The Prince and The Pauper
by killmesoftly.luv
Summary: Trying to get out from his harsh life, Francis smuggled himself and little Matthew to the not too foreign country across the sea. Wrapping his past life, he met a certain British who seemed to hate his origin and his jovial son. AU FrUK & FACE family
1. The Land of Dreams

FFnet being glitchy, I can't post new story in Hetalia category, I'm sorry if this story ended in another anime/manga category ;_;  
credits to: **NeonZangetsu**, **Shiuta-san**, and **notwritten **for making this story successfully posted ;_;

EDIT: I HAVE BETA NOW ASDVFSKDJFS THANK YOU **LEGEND OF ZELDA 4 LIFE ***3333*

* * *

**Chapter 1: Land of Dreams**

Holding onto the small palm in his hand, he smiled. He found it amusing to watch his sweet little child shyly cover his mouth to hide his sleepiness while continuing to clutch his stuffed polar bear at the same time.

"Mathieu_, as-tu sommeil?"_

"_Non_, Papa…"

He took his little baby in his arms, patting his back, whispering that it was okay to sleep. Soon after, he felt the little one relax and he took the stuffed toy -the only thing his wife left for their beloved child- so it wouldn't fall down on their trip to the world beyond the sea.

In the darkness of the dock, he heard someone gave the cue to him and some other people to jump into the cargo ship. Yes, it was now or never – he didn't care how, the urge to visit his late wife's birthplace got the best of him even though he knew this was illegal.

He remembered how his wife lulled him to sleep with her stories about the childhood he'd never heard of, the faeries, unicorns and many things that usually made him giggle while she would pout. Besides that, he was sure that in the land of the rain, he would find the luck he needed to raise little Mathieu into proper life.

"Hurry up, don't let anyone see you!"

Someone with a thick accent and a small oil lamp stood in front of the cargo box, receiving fares from people like him and counting them on the spot. That man didn't care what kind of people stowed away ton his boat, as long as he had his share. When his turn came, he handed most of his fortune to the rough looking man.

"Hey you!" the man stopped him. "This is not enough; you must pay more for that little kid there."

"But _Monsieur_, he doesn't need any room, I'll carry him…"

A little bit impressed with his English, he nonetheless walked towards him and spit his tobacco to the side. "Pay more or leave the child behind."

"_Comment pourrais-je?_ He's my child!"

The rough man seemed run out of patience; he raised an eyebrow and pointed to the line behind him. "Look, pretty face, I still have loads of passengers there, so if you don't want to pay, then get out."

Muttering his disbelief, he gave the man what he wanted and only left with a bit of money, enough to stay a few days on the new country.

The other man sneered as he counted his money greedily.

"_Merci beaucoup_, have a nice trip and good luck!"

He sighed and walked further on the cargo deck to find some people already marking their spots. He knew he would be joining them soon, too. The gloomy atmosphere somehow made him relax. No one bothered to look at each other's faces, knowing this would be a short trip and that they would all scatter to unknown places after this cargo ship arrived at destination, early in the morning.

Mathieu stirred a little and the smile crept back onto his tired face. "_Ça va aller,mon petit._"

* * *

_**~Half a year later~**_

"_Mathieu, viens ici. Aide-moi, s'il-te-plaît._ "

"_Oui_, Papa."

"Please bring me a paper bag for this nice lady."

"Yes, Papa."

Mathieu ran inside the fruit store and talked to the owner, an old lady. While outside, his Papa attended to a young lady from the next neighborhood who he sees often at the bar. She needed to buy some fruits to see her sick friend.

"He's so cute, is that your little boy you often brag about?"

"_Oui_, he's cute like his Papa, _non_?"

They laughed as Mathieu brought the paper bag in his tiny hands. His Papa placed the fruits gently inside it and the lady left after thanking the little boy and paying – with a little extra for the little helper.

"Papa, look, I got candies!"

"Lucky you Mathieu, candy is not cheap. Treasure it will you?"

"Hmm!" he ran inside to show the old lady owner his candy. The old lady flashed her no-teeth smile and patted the boy's head gently.

He inhaled and smiled. Time surely flies by fast. He still remembered the day when they reached Dover and the days of suffering and starving... watching Mathieu's eyes when he checked out the candy or freshly baked bread to calm his growling stomach... And he, as his father, couldn't give him anything beside the cheap leftover bread -which's solidity could be compared to that of a rock –. They often slept under the stars or the rain without having their stomachs filled.

He didn't plan to stay that long in Dover. He only vaguely remembered how they could reach the countryside near London – the place where his late wife was raised before she went to his homeland –. There, he met this kind old lady who was willing to accommodate them with a place to stay in exchange for helping her sell the fruits she grew and dealing with the farmers.

"Francis!"

The small voice of a little girl from the neighboring shop dragged him back to the current time. He smiled and leaned towards her. "Yes, my princess? Can I help you?"

"It's time to play the accordion!" she grinned enthusiastically.

"You've heard me play since we moved here at the exact same time. Is that not enough?" Francis laughed.

"No…we love your songs!" She beamed and the others slid on their puppy-dog eyes, while their parents – mostly owner of the shops- laughed at their children's antics. He couldn't resist the children and sighed in defeat. He finally put his hands on his hips, thus answering the children's hopes. "Fine, you win, _attendez ici un moment._"

The children cheered.

* * *

The clopping of horse shoes mixed with the sound of wooden wheels echoed on the cobblestone street. He didn't like going near his summer house, where everything he wanted to erase was blatantly exposed in front of his eyes. If only this was not a business need, he might even forget that place and bury himself in his work at the main house.

"Alfred stay put please." He finally sighed, watching his son buzz around inside the carriage.

"But father, I'm bored~" the kid whined.

"Why don't you read? You have your reading homework, right? Even though you're coming with me, it doesn't mean you should neglect your studies." He chastised.

"I don't like reading, I want to play!" Alfred pouted.

"Remember what we agreed on yesterday?"

"Yes father…I'll behave…" the blond kid looked away, crossing his arms.

The little one threw a glance outside. When his father knocked on the roof of the carriage with his cane, the carriage stopped in front of the candy shop. He asked the coachman to buy him some candy and keep him occupied before handing him a pouch of money.

Alfred's father chuckled at his son's bright face. "This will be the bribe if you can behave this entire week."

"Only candy? You know it won't be enough…"

His father rolled his eyes, "I'll think about another reward when you show yourself worthy of one…"

Alfred let a little chuckle escape his mouth before something outside drew his attention. He decided to quietly slip outside the stopped carriage after making sure that his father didn't pay attention to him. The latter was too busy looking at the suit shop's display window.

"You know, maybe I can buy you the new train set if you be…" his sentence trailed off when he turned to see the other side of carriage door already opened and he realized his son wasn't sitting beside him anymore.

It was jovial. Everyone on the shopping street danced and clapped their hands, forgetting their differences and their cultural backgrounds. It was beautiful; he couldn't describe it with mere words. The sound of his accordion accompanied them in creating such an atmosphere. Some of them even joined him in creating a new harmony with used drums or their everyday utensils. Everyone was laughing, and in the corner side of the city that no one noticed, the street became light and merry.

Big blue eyes stared at them from the street entrance. He couldn't hide his enthusiasm and jumped into the crowd. During his 8 years of life, he'd never seen this kind of excitement. His father only took him to the dull parties where everyone loves to talk more than dance and when they dance, they dance with caution, like they're afraid to break their necks if they moved too much.

Little Alfred was an adventurous boy. He danced without caring who they were, he laughed with them, took the ladies' hands and showed them manners his father taught him. Nobody cared much about him.

Everyone was having fun, until repeated desperate screams called the party to an end.

Everyone fell silent and eyed the young man in his expensive suit, standing there and panting. His expression was a mixture between panic, worry and anger.

"Fa-father…" Alfred stammered, blanching.

"What did I tell you about behaving?" he walked towards the little boy who looked about to cry.

"I-I…"

"Go back to the carriage!" he ordered him with a booming voice. It made Alfred drop his eyes lower than before.

"Hey, _Monsieur,_ don't be too harsh on him, he's just a little boy."

The businessman turned when he heard the accent he hated. It was the man with the accordion, who was sitting on a wooden barrel. He glared at the person who dared to interfere with his family life but he found the other's eyes holding the stern gaze thrown at him easily.

"What's with your gaze? I'm teaching my own son, who had run away from the carriage."

"Run away?" Francis put his accordion on top of the barrel and walked towards him.

Even though both of them had the same height and almost the same shade of blond hair, their exterior looks completely stated their social class.

"But do you need to yell like that? Don't you see he's trembling?" Francis noted, raising a brow.

The Frenchman reached his hand out to pat Alfred on his back but his father swatted the hand with his own. "Do not touch him with your filthy hands."

Everybody on the street gasped at the rude remark. Little Mathieu, who was watching from the sidewalk, ran towards his Papa to cling to his thighs and send the Briton a glare which was not as threatening as he liked.

After he'd recovered from his initial shock, Francis held his hands out in a defensive manner, "_Bien, Monsieur_…I won't touch your child or your _vêtements coûteux_, but don't you think it's a little bit rude?"

"I don't care what you think about this. Let's go Alfred." The businessman muttered grumpily.

As he was about to turn around, he suddenly heard the Frenchman scoff. "_Mais quel ignorant, cet Anglais._"

"Pardon?"

"Nothing…you don't care what _I _think about this, am I wrong? Go on then…" he strained his smile.

The Englishman could have punched the other blond right there, on the spot, but he decided against it. He decided instead to get back to his carriage and continue their trip to his summer house. There were no benefits in beating the other man to a pulp. The immigrant just might spread the news and wound his reputation if he did.

* * *

The new train set decorated Alfred's huge room, but he found no appeal in playing with that. He always threw his gaze idly out the window, staring blankly. Lately the weather had been nice – weather you would call being perfect for having a picnic – but he didn't want to do anything but stare into the distance.

His father sighed when he found his only child unattached to his real life. No matter how many times he called him, he would not respond or if he decided to, it was a slow response followed by slow motions of his body. Alfred never acted this way before he found the immigrants on the shopping street yesterday.

He'd been like that since they'd gotten to the summer house, a place that he personally loathed, but that Alfred adored.

"Alfred, come help me pick the fruits to make your favorite fruit cake." The blond tried.

"Why are you not working?" the kid threw back dully.

"Do you really want me to get back to work even when I have time with you?"

The little boy perked up at that and jumped towards his father. He grabbed his hand, leading him to the back door where their butler usually left what he picked as the freshest fruits from the local farmer. Once in a while, the businessman reminded his son not to get over excited but his little boy ignored him.

The butler greeted them but before Alfred's father reached the back door, his butler handed him an important letter from the main branch. The older man told Alfred to go first and examined the letter on the nearest seat which was the pantry seat.

Alfred, on the other hand, still bouncy as ever, greeted the farmer cheerfully, but stopped halfway when he realized that the man before him was not the usual one.

"AH!" They both exclaimed simultaneously upon seeing each other.

"You're the boy from yesterday!"

"And you're the accordion man!" Alfred gasped. He then looked around for the usual farmer around here. "Eh…where's uncle Sadiq?"

"Oh that old man... His back was aching after he helped on his neighbor's farm…when I visited him to restock the shop with the fruits, he told me to come here first before I go home…"

"I see…you're helping him then…" Alfred cocked his head to the side cutely.

"_Oui_." Francis smiled.

"Hey accordion man, do you bring your accordion with you?" Alfred suddenly asked, a spark lighting in his sky blue eyes.

"First of all, son…I have name – my name's Francis. And second, no I didn't bring it with me, but you are always invited to come to the street…" he winked as Alfred's smile grew considerably. "As long as you don't bring your grumpy father there…I guess it's okay…" he added with a chuckle.

"Pardon me for being grumpy."

Both of them jumped of the sudden voice. Alfred's frightened expression slid back on but Francis didn't care. Alfred's father sighed.

"I won't allow you to go to the street, and you have to remember you need to study here, even though it's only a week…" Alfred gave him a desperate look. "…but if this _Monsieur_ here is kind enough to bring his accordion to this house and entertain you, I can allow it." He finished with a smile.

Alfred immediately jumped and hugged his father, laughing and offering a thousand thanks to him. Francis smirked and shook his head amusedly at that.

"I guess I misjudged you Mr. Grumpy." he offered his hand to shake but the Briton only stared at it. He pulled his eye level back to Francis' face without taking the other man's hand.

"First, my name is not Mr. Grumpy, it's Arthur Kirkland. Second, I'll take that as 'yes'." He coldly answered.

"_Bien, Monsieur_ Kirkland…" Francis dropped his hand and sighed. "See you tomorrow."

**~to be continued~**

* * *

I'm on FrUK and FACE family roll

**Translations:**

(French)

_As-tu sommeil?:_ Are you tired?

_Comment __pourrais-je?_ : How could I?

_Merci beaucoup_: Thank you very much

_Mathieu, viens ici. Aide-moi, s'il-te-plaît : _Mathieu, come here. Could you help me, please?

_Attendez ici un moment_: Wait here just one moment.

_Vêtement coûteux_: Fancy clothes

_Mais quel ignorant, cet Anglais_: What an ignorant Brit he is.

_Bien_ : Very well


	2. Happy Children, Fighting Parents

**EDIT:** BETA-ed dbsfhasg thousand thank you for **Legend of Zelda 4 Life **for BETA-ing this *3*

Thank you for your time reading this and especially to the people who kind enough to leave review, alert and favorite...even though I'm not sure what I'm writing XD  
and for the early warning, this fic will changed into angst as the story progresses, since I can't write light fluff even though how hard I try, I hope you okay with that ;_;

**The Hetalia Fan:** I'm sure you can do it better than me XD and thank you

**Valitiel:** Yes, I'm going to finish this :D

**Chibikitsu:** Wah I'm ashamed, I guess google translation doing a great job on the first chapter...I don't know about this chapter though, and yes I need a beta sooo bad T_T

**anon, XxBleedingSoulXx28282, Ai no Yoake**: enjoy :D I hope you like this one

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**Chapter 2: Happy Children, Fighting Parents**

He watched as a certain girl moved inside the bar rapidly, trying to serve the orders that came indefinitely, stumbling around but eventually managing to get back at her feet before a long whistle came from the corner and made the girl glare at the person. Francis let a low huff escape his lips, surrounding him in thin white smoke from his cigarette.

In front of him, a glass of cheap gin sat still as if to accompany the lonely man. He ran his fingers on the rim of the glass and thought about how much he missed the sweet taste of champagne made with the best chardonnay grapes, but he dismissed the thought by thinking about his little boy – it was for the better that he abandoned such drinks and didn't stay in France at all.

A light tap on his shoulder made him turn around and meet forest-green eyes staring down at him with his ever present smile. "Are you alone?" the newcomer asked amicably.

"As you can see…" Francis gestured to the seat facing his, inviting the man to have a seat.

"That is unlikely…" the brown-haired man took up the invitation and pulled the chair before plopping down on it.

"I was thinking, which is something I rarely do…" The other man chuckled at that and waved his hand to get the attention of the barmaid while Francis took another long drag of his cigarette before releasing the smoke along with little coughs out of his system.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"There was this man…" his friend's eyes suddenly widened, stopping Francis in his tracks. "What's with your expression?"

"I don't know you changed your preferences…oh _¡hola_ Elizaveta…_!_" He greeted the pretty long haired barmaid and she took his order with a roll of her eyes. "So…who is this lucky guy?" The tan man teased once she was gone.

"You know, I never said I'm only into women…" The Frenchman paused and stared the green eyed before him. "Maybe that man is you, Antonio." He chuckled in a low, seductive whisper.

"Ahahaha, thank you, Francis – _Pero,__ mi respuesta es no. _"

"Oh, you hurt me so!" The blond clutched his heart, pretending to be stabbed by his friend's rejection. "Anyway…do you remember the rich man that came to our street a few days ago?"

"_¡Sí!_" He paused to take his order from Elizaveta's hands with a grateful nod. "He was quite stylish right? If only I were that rich…I'd plant my garden full of tomatoes and Lovino would be happy…" Antonio started day dreaming at the mention of Lovino.

"…Is that your only impression of him?" Francis winced slightly.

"Now that you mention it, he was kind of rude, wasn't he?" He mused out loud, cracking his first pistachio nut.

"Yes, I met him again when I was helping Sadiq distribute the fruits to his rich customers; he lived in the _grande maison_ near the rich Austrian…"

"Hmm…that house was empty for about…3 years after fire burnt the second floor room…" Antonio nodded, painting a picture in his mind.

They were silent for a moment because of the ruckus on the corner table, where a certain albino man tried to annoy busy Elizaveta. To that, he only got a smack from her tray and made the albino's little brother facepalm. They all laughed and Antonio muttered something like _'he never learns'_.

"…and?" he finally turned his attention back to his friend.

Francis was startled for a while and put off his cigarette on the clay ashtray. "He wants me to go to his house again and entertain his son…"

Cracking another pistachio, Antonio smiled. "I guess he's not that bad…"

"Probably…" he eyed his glass, "but I'm kind of nervous, you know…" propping his chin on his hands, he stared at his friend with his 'serious talk' face and Antonio knew well to imitate the serious attention on that face. "He has these huge eyebrows and they're kind of intimidating…"

Antonio suddenly spat his pistachios from his mouth, caught between laughter and disbelief. "You better not be joking about your last sentence, Francis."

He smiled and took another cigarette from the aluminum case hanging it unlit between his lips. "I have the awkward feeling that this man is kind of strange."

"Why is that?"

"_Je ne sais pas_, but maybe I can dig for some clues tomorrow…" he closed the subject with a tired huff and instead joined his friend in cracking the pistachio nuts.

* * *

The door creaked as he entered the room arranged in the attic. The things behind the attic door prevented it from being opened completely as Francis carefully pushed the trap open. It was only 9 PM but the old lady below was already sleeping and had left him an oil lamp to ease his way upstairs.

He smiled when he saw another oil lamp illuminating his little Mathieu's serene face. He was sleeping safe and sound, tucked under the blanket, worn, but enough to keep him warm. The cramped attic that was meant for storage before their arrival had now become their little paradise. It was far better than to live under the stars or cowshed anyways, as they could testify by experience.

Slowly he tiptoed up to his son's sleeping figure and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. Mathieu stirred and fluttered his eyes open as soon as he smelled the familiar cigarette scent and warmth around his hands where Francis usually held when they slept next to each other.

"Pa…Papa?"

"Shh…_Je suis désolé de t'avoir réveillé_…"

The little boy shook his head faintly, and then asked him in his sleepy voice "_Avez-vous mangé, _Papa_?_" he fluttered his eyes sleepily.

"_Oui, je n'ai plus faim._" Francis simply gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

With soft _'hmmm'_ Mathieu simply smiled and drifted back to his dreams.

Francis only dared to move after he made sure that the little one wouldn't be woken up a second time. Taking his time, he walked to the basin placed on the other side of the room and washed his face. He realized that wrinkles from age and stress had started to appear on his face when he stared at his own reflection on the convex mirror and then his gaze caught on sleeping Mathieu.

He suddenly broke out in a cough, his eyes watering slightly. There was an ache in his chest, a pang hitting his heart as he felt guilt creep into him for having put such a small child through such trials. _If only I…_

* * *

Francis slid on his freshly ironed white shirt while black trousers brushed against his skinny legs and he clicked the red suspender in its place as he finished. It was the evening now, the commercial activities having already lessened when he decided to prepare himself for his evening performance.

He took the accordion from under their shared bed and put it on the nearest chair. He strolled across the room lightly and took the red ribbon to tie his shoulder length wavy blond hair. He let a little chuckle escape his lips when he realized his little Mathieu was eyeing him with his big curious eyes.

"_Où allez-vous aller_, Papa?"

"_Je vais en visite dans une grande maison près de la maison d'oncle Sadiq._" The Frenchman assured his son with a light smile.

"I-I thought you want to…make another street performance…" Mathieu's wet sniffles sent a shock of alarm through him, and he turned around to face his little boy.

"_Non_, Mathieu…" he kneeled, levelling his gaze with his son's. "We are happy here, right?" Mathieu nodded. "This place will be the end of our journey…no more sleeping under the stars or eating bread that can be compared to a rock…" He gave Mathieu's hands a soft, reassuring squeeze and kissed his forehead lovingly.

"If that is so…Papa…can I go with you?" the kid asked hopefully.

"I don't know Mathieu." Francis resumed his hair tying. "The owner of the house is quite grumpy…I don't want him to leave you outside the manor because he doesn't want you to be there…"

"But Papa…_Je me sens seul..._" Mathieu pleaded with those innocent violet eyes of his.

Seeing Mathieu's watery gaze, his father gave up with a sigh and scratched his head, bemused. "_Bien, tu peux venir avec moi._"

He walked hand in hand with his son while they hummed various French childrens' songs and weren't aware of the stares thrown at them. Soon, the stacked and cramped houses started to change. They walked across some junctions that separated the poor and the rich before arriving in the brand new environment.

Mathieu couldn't hide his amusement, that child was too honest. Francis smiled and asked him to walk a little more before they arrived at said house. Now they were standing in front of a tall fence from where they barely saw the house because of all the trees. Francis noticed that near the fence, an old man was staring at them with tired eyes.

"May I help you?" He sounded like someone who just woken up.

"Yes, can you please inform to your master that the accordion man is here already?" Francis winced as he called himself by the nickname he avoided so much.

The old man waved his hand asked him to wait before walking to the house. Francis dropped his gaze to his son. "Are you cold?" Mathieu shook his head and clutched his stuffed polar bear tighter. Francis ruffled his son's hair, who giggled before latching his hands to his Papa's thigh.

The guard came not long after that and opened the fence with single key he pulled out from his chest pocket. Mathieu hid behind his father when the rusty hinges let a screeching sound – little Mathieu said it sounded like a haunted house's fence in the scary story he heard from Gilbert, the albino man-.

Francis chuckled and greeted the guard, wishing him a good night while the other man raised his hat in salute as he stepped inside the house.

The old butler met them on the stairs and guided them inside the large house, to the library to be exact. While they waited and sat timidly, they – especially Mathieu - couldn't stop examining the interior. It was lavish at best.

As they were busy gawking without noticing anything around them, Francis was startled as he spotted a hurricane in the corner of his eye. Turning around, he realized it was only the young master running towards them, no limits on his energy as usual.

"You came, came, came, came, came!" Alfred squealed in delight, jumping in place in excitement.

"Yes, I'm here…" Francis chuckled at the boy's energy.

"Father told me that you wouldn't come if I didn't study, so I studied even though I loathe it! You know I'd rather walk in the garden, digging the ground to catch worms and then go fishing, and then…" Alfred trailed off in his rant with a content sigh.

Francis couldn't hide his amusement at his non-stop talking, although he suddenly felt grateful that Mathieu wasn't as noisy as the child before him.

"Y-yes…" he cut Alfred's babbling short. "I guess your father was only teasing you…I would have come even if you didn't study…"

"Really?"

"_Oui._"

"Please stop corrupting my son and getting him to boycott his own education." The grumpy voice's owner suddenly appeared at the doorsill.

"You lied to me! And you're always telling me not to lie, but you're the one lying now!" Alfred protested vehemently.

"You're allowed to lie when you're an adult like I am." Alfred's father scoffed and raised one of his caterpillar eyebrows. Francis flinched involuntarily, afraid that they really were caterpillars and that they could fall every time Arthur moved them.

"_No_ fair!"

"_Yes_ fair, now hurry up. Finish whatever you want to do and go to sleep."

Alfred pouted and Francis suddenly felt a wave of pity wash over him

"Don't you think it's little early?" he eyed the grandfather clock from over his shoulder. "It's only 7:15 PM and you gave him a bad example, too."

"I didn't recall asking your opinion." Arthur huffed.

"You did not, but I'm free to state my opinion, _Monsieur _Grumpy Eyebrows."

"Take that back, you git!"

"_Non_, now Alfred…what did you want me to do?" Francis ignored the angry man and turned his attention to little Alfred.

He looked at his fuming father for a second, then back to the Frenchman.

"I-I want to hear you play the accordion…" he blushed.

"Do you want to dance while I play?" Francis chuckled.

"N-No…it'll be embarrassing…" he glanced at his father again from the corner of his eye.

"Do you want to dance with your father?"

"Umm…"

"I don't want to dance if that silly instrument will be playing whatever you call music."

Francis gave him cold stare for his obliviousness. He'd probably broken little Alfred's heart with those few simple words.

"_Bien_, if your father – whom I suspect can't even dance in the first place – decided not to dance with you, I have a companion for you who surely will." The Frenchman smiled.

Francis then turned to reveal Mathieu, who had been hiding this entire time behind his Papa's back. He poked his head out in wonder, but clung back to Francis when he saw two unknown pairs of eyes staring at him in curiosity.

"WHOA! Where did he come from?"

Alfred's booming voice prompted Mathieu to cling harder on his Papa's shirt. For a moment there, Francis was actually afraid that the cheap fabric wouldn't stay in one piece if this went on any longer.

"_Viens, n'aie pas peur." _He smiled at his son, who hesitantly stepped out from behind him. "Alfred, he's been with me all this time…he came here with me." He also explained, knowing his son had the tendency to be invisible.

"I-I didn't see him…" Arthur spluttered in embarrassment..

"Well maybe you should wear your glasses, grandpa." Francis chuckled in amusement.

"You…" Arthur gritted his teeth but soon forgot his anger when he saw his son approaching the wavy haired boy – who looked almost identical to Alfred in some way.

"Hey hey, what's your name?" he finally grinned brightly, greeting the other kid enthusiastically.

"Ma-Mathieu." The Frenchman's son whispered shyly.

"Matthiau?" Alfred raised a brow.

"Mathieu."

"I can't really pronounce your name... It's so hard, I'll just call you Matthew." Alfred laughed.

"D-don't decide important things like that as you please..." Mathieu whispered again, cheeks burning in shame.

"Hmm? Did you say something, Matthew?"

"N-nothing…"

Soon, both of them were playing on the Persian carpet that decorated the library floor, leaving their parents alone. Tired of looking around the sickeningly well furnished room, Francis divulged his gaze to the man who was still standing in the doorway.

"There are so many couches and chairs but you choose to stand. Why don't you take a seat?"

"Bugger, don't order me around, I'm the owner of this house!" Arthur bit back a swear.

"Yes, yes, I can tell, really." he paused when the old butler served them tea and snacks, waiting until he was gone to speak again. "But I'm getting tired of seeing you standing there with your _grimace digne d'un babouin. _Take a seat and lessen my suffering, will you?"

Arthur grumbled but sat on the nearest arm chair, taking a sip of his tea without detaching his cold gaze from the Frenchman, who stared back at him with a wide smile on his face.

"Did you find something interesting on my face?" Francis finally asked.

"If there's something, it's not something on your face; it's your face in all its entirety that bothers me." Arthur growled.

"I'll take that as a compliment, since people usually remember the faces of the people they either love or hate with passion."

"What?" The caterpillars joined together in a deep scowl; Francis only chuckled at the amusing expression and sipped his tea as his only given response.

"Hey…do you know how to play the accordion, too?" Alfred asked once the two kids were alone in the adjacent room.

"Papa taught me when we still performed on the streets for a living, but…I'm no good…" Mathieu blushed.

"Show me!" Alfred demanded nonetheless, brimming with energy.

"Um…this one is too heavy for me. I can't use it…" Mathieu fumbled with his thumbs in embarrassment.

"Aww…but hey! Come with me! I have a new train set we can play with!" Alfred gasped in wonder.

Alfred took Mathieu's hand and dragged him eagerly across the room. Mathieu silently pleaded his Papa for help with his eyes but Francis only chuckled and nodded.

"Have a good time playing with your new friend. We'll go home by 8:30 PM, okay?"

When the children disappeared, the awkward silence came again, wrapping around both men in the library. The awkwardness was mostly on the businessman's side, though, as he found that he couldn't stop fidgeting.

"Don't you have any work left to finish?" Francis asked out of pure curiosity, putting the china cup back on its plate.

"Unfortunately, no." Arthur reached out to take some tea snacks when his fingers bumped with Francis'.

Instinctively, he pulled his hand back with great haste, diverting his gaze to anywhere else than the other man's sapphire eyes. Francis, however, examined the other man's weird behaviour curiously before sighing.

_It happened again…_

"Hey, I don't have germs, you know…"

"Huh?"

"I know I'm poor and all, but does every Englishman act like you do?" He rummaged for something in his trouser's pocket and produced an aluminum case and a small box of matches. "_Je n'ai pas un coeur de pierre _, I'll get hurt if you treat me like I'm contagious. Then again, I now know that maybe you never wanted to deal with our 'kind' in the first place…"

He lit his cigarette while Arthur waited for his rambling to finish.

"Are you done?"

"Hmm?" Francis raised a brow. The white smoke somewhat blocked his view of the other man, but he could tell he was outstretching a hand towards him. His trembling hand was in front of the Frenchman in a moment, plucking the newly-lit cigarette from his lips.

"No smoking in my house please." Arthur whispered coldly and crushed the cigarette on the expensive china.

Francis grabbed the other's hand to try and determine the cause of his trembling but Arthur jerked his hand as soon as it was touched and suddenly gave him a good slap to the face. Francis was thoroughly startled. One hand went to his stinging cheek and his mouth slightly opened in a gape. He stared at the other man in disbelief and that's when he realized that tension and anger was escalating quickly between them.

"What was that for?"

"Don't you ever touch me!"

"What's the big deal? I'm not molesting you or anything like that!"

"It's disgracing! …To be touched by someone like _you_!" Arthur finished viciously.

Francis reeled back, shocked into silence. Did he just hear what he thought he'd heard? That _Anglais_ just insulted his existence and his dignity! Being so poor, he'd prided himself in the fact that he still had his dignity, if nothing else, but the angry Brit had just taken that away from him as well.

"Very well then…" he seethed, taking his accordion and slinging it over his shoulder roughly. "Mathieu! Mathieu! _On rentre à la maison!_"

He glared daggers at the man who tried his best not to make eye contact with him. It seemed the Brit found his old Persian carpet more interesting than what had just transpired a minute ago right before his eyes.

Mathieu was followed by Alfred as they ran back to the library laughing. They stopped once they saw their parents, though. One looked positively enraged while the other looked somewhat guilty.

"We're going home? Papa…it's not even 8:15 PM yet…and why is your cheek red?" Mathieu asked, innocent curiosity practically flowing from his eyes.

Francis took Mathieu's hand without answering any of his questions.

"We're not wanted in this house anymore. Let's go home…" he simply muttered under his breath before turning around to leave.

Mathieu looked at his new playmate in desperation and Alfred tried to recreate what was happened between their parents, at least. Matthew and him were playing with the train set and flipping through some story books when they'd heard Matthew's Papa calling him in that language that Alfred couldn't understand.

"Why did they leave, Father? I was playing with him, and you told them to go home?" Alfred half-objected, half-asked when he heard the heavy front door swing shut.

"Shut up, Alfred, and go get ready for bed… I'm tired…" Arthur covered his face with his palms and walked right past Alfred, who was still desperately searching for the answer.

_**~to be continued~**_

* * *

**Translations:**

(French)

_Grande maison_: big house

_Je ne sais pas_: I don't know

_Je suis désolé de t'avoir réveillé : _I'm sorry for waking you

_Avez-vous mangé?: _Have you eaten? (formal)

_Oui, je n'ai plus faim : _Yes, I'm not hungry anymore

_Où allez-vous aller_, Papa?: Where are you gonna go, Dad? (formal)

_Je vais en visite dans une grande maison près de la maison d'oncle Sadiq : _I'm gonna go for a visit at a large house close to uncle Sadiq's.

_Je me sens seul : _I'm feeling lonely

_Bien, tu peux venir avec moi : _Very well, you can come with me

_Viens, n'aie pas peur : _Come, don't be afraid

_Grimace digne d'un babouin: _Very ugly frown (in the context. Literally: Grimace worthy of a monkey)

_Je n'ai pas un coeur de pierre : _My heart is not made of stone

_On rentre à la maison!_: We're going home!

(Spanish)

_Pero, mi respuesta es no_ : But my answer is no.


	3. Reconciliation?

EDIT: Another BETA version by the awesome **Legend of Zelda 4 life** thank youuuu for editing this despite your exam and another distractors lololol :DDD

Hello and thank you for reading, especially to you who clicked alert and favorite, reviews are very appreciated and always make me happy :)  
And I'm sorry for my grammars and Google Translate for other language not in English as always m(_ _)m

**Musingsage**: Aah yes, that's what makes Hetalia interesting, right? XD

**SaraJane**: You're welcome and aww no one can beat Gilbo in awesomeness XDD

**Jeanne** S: Thank you, for the Spanish, and for some reason I always forget to put the translation asgasdfgdf thank you for reminding me. And for the other question, keep reading ne ;)

**Patrich11**: Thank you :D I hope you enjoy reading this fic

**Valitiel**: He's douche haha I kind of agree

**Wicked-Lollypop**: I really appreciate if you want to be my beta T_T (Beta's Notes: HAHAHAHA beat you to the punch, sorry ;D)

**Ai no yoak**e: Thank you, I wonder why with google translate, maybe he's tsundere for Spanish XD and I hope you like this chapter too

* * *

**Chapter 3: Reconciliation?**

The week had almost ended when Arthur decided to talk to Alfred about leaving the summer house and going back to their main house.

"My business here is already done, prepare what you want to bring to the main house; we're leaving tomorrow afternoon…"

"I don't like to live there." Alfred quickly replied.

"Alfred..." Arthur tried a little desperately.

"I don't have friends there, I'm lonely! And father, why don't Matthew and his father want to come back here anymore?" his son pouted.

Arthur sighed and sat on Alfred's bed.

"I don't want to talk about it." He darkly whispered.

"That's the exact same explanation you gave me when mom disappeared!" Arthur stared wide-eyed at his son, whose fingers were still fumbling with the paper plane and whose teary eyes reflected only pain and loneliness. "I miss mom…"

Goodness, what should he say to that? Alfred was still a little boy and loved his mom very much. Even though it had been 3 years already, he had no other alibi to give except 'I don't want to talk about her.'

"She won't come back, Alfred." Arthur only shook his head, sighing dejectedly. "Now, you better sleep early tonight if you don't want to get sick in the carriage during our trip back." He walked towards the door but stopped and turned to see blue eyes staring directly at him.

"Daddy…" That seemed to alarm Arthur greatly in itself. It been a long time since he'd been called that. "Why are you so cold?" Alfred asked with hoarse voice.

"Do you prefer to have a whiny Dad?" He muttered back with a small frown and disappeared behind the door.

It was getting harder and harder for him to hide the facts about his wife from his son. Even though the only thing left in his heart was hatred, he didn't want Alfred to hate his mother. If only, at that time, he hadn't been so busy... Maybe it wouldn't have happened...

He was totally aware that Alfred felt lonely because of the home schooling but Arthur tried his best to spend more time with his son and finished his work as soon as he could. However, it seemed like it was not enough for the little guy, who needed a companion around his age.

And he had blown Alfred's only chance at gaining a new friend.

A faint knock on his study made him fall back into reality. He allowed the one behind the door to come in and was startled to see his neighbour standing in the doorway.

"Roderich?"

"_Guten tag_, Arthur."

* * *

Soon the two neighbors were sitting in front of the wide windows in Arthur's study, enjoying their honey flavored tea. The aristocrat's amethyst eyes examined the businessman's face. He didn't let his gaze waver, even when he sipped his tea.

"What a troubling face you're making." Roderich closed his eyes and put the china back into its plate.

"Pardon me?" Arthur's massive eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Your scowl, it's getting deeper…" his neighbor only justified.

"It's not polite to stare at peoples' face, you know…" he reasoned, just to lead his neighbor away from the topic of his face and why it was such deeply etched with a frown.

"I'm not staring, I'm examining… So… Did Alfred say something that made you uncomfortable?"

"H-how did you know it's about Alfred?" Arthur stifled a gasp with a forced cough.

"He's your biggest concern, right?" Roderich eyed the tea snacks suspiciously. "This is your cook's handiwork, right?"

"What's with that question? Yes… it was made by her…" Arthur propped one hand under his chin, his eyes wandering to the ignored rose garden right in front of his study – the place where his wife and Alfred used to play when they visited this house. "…and there's something else…"

Roderich stopped his hand before the scone reached his mouth. "Something happened?"

Arthur told him about the accordion man and his son whom he met accidentally – not in a good way on one of the street, also Alfred's loneliness and question about his mother. Arthur usually didn't like talking about his personal life, but Roderich was different. He trusted the bespectacled man, seeing as Roderich had always been there when important events had happened to him.

"You did it again?" Roderich sighed and massaged his temples.

"Yes, yes I did it again." Arthur scornfully replied. "I really don't know what to do with my problems… if I continue like this, I'll lose my business relatives from _that place_!"

"That really is a problem. All this time, you managed to cover it up, but sooner or later, I'm afraid it'll reveal itself…"

"What should I do?" Arthur was desperate for an answer, and Roderich knew that perfectly well.

"Counter it!" He munched on the scone he had neglected in favor of hearing Arthur's story. "By the way, I'm here to inform you that I will hold a party tonight at my house. It's always good to meet new people for your business, right?" Roderich held out the invitation that seemed like it had magically materialized from behind his coat.

"But I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon." Arthur grimaced lightly.

Roderich shrugged, "It's up to you whether you come or not, but I know you never reject this kind of invitation…" He sipped his tea calmly and Arthur scowled.

Roderich was right.

* * *

The carriage stormed outside the area where rich people resided, towards the city where people from any social status gathered. It was still afternoon, and as expected, it was a busy day. Roderich knocked on the carriage's roof and the horse neighed before stopping outside a suit shop.

"I'll be back soon…" He told the Coachman before walking down the cobbles road. He never had the intention to go to the suit shop, since he already had too many suits – all hand tailored. No, he had someplace much more important to be right now.

Where was it again? He tried to remember but he couldn't recall; he was sure it was around this street... Where did he come from again? He couldn't see his horse carriage anymore.

Ah, his sense of direction never got any better. That's why he liked to stay at home at best or depend on the directions of people who knew of the location he wished to go to.

But he had no one today.

He was just about to go down further on an unknown street when a voice made him turn around.

"Can I help you, Sir?"

The long haired woman with flowers decorating the right side of her hair gave him a friendly smile after asking, her green eyes glowing under the sunlight.

"Umm…yes, I was lost." Roderich admitted shamefully.

"Where do you want to go?" the woman asked nicely.

"The street with the many immigrants…um…the market, I mean." He caught himself quickly, lest he sound impolite.

"Oh! I came from there. I'll lead you there, if you don't mind following me…" the woman offered.

"Oh no, not at all…" Roderich managed an awkward smile before falling into step behind the woman.

They walked together side by side down the road of cobblestone. He couldn't help but noticing the smell of flowers from this girl. Was it jasmine?

"You didn't come from this area, am I right?" the girl suddenly asked.

The sudden conversation made him splutter and search for his words. "Yes, I'm from…"

"No need to explain. I can tell from your clothes, no one in this area has the kind of clothes you wear…" she chuckled and he had to admit, he loved the sound of it. "By the way, do you have any business coming to this area?"

"Uh-umm I need to meet a certain man who can play accordion…" Roderich awkwardly muttered.

"Oh, Francis? How do you know him?" the woman's eyes brightened in recognition.

"No, I don't know him…yet." Roderich simply replied.

The girl eyed him in question but she smiled. "Well, it's nice to see rich people here…and if you don't mind, you can visit the bar where I work sometime soon. I'll treat you."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose, Miss…"

"Elizaveta." she supplied for him.

"Miss Elizaveta, what kind of man would I be if I let a woman treat me?" he smiled a little, "Instead, what if you came to my party? It will be held tonight." he gave her the caramel colored invitation that made her eyes widen. "Take this as a thank you gift for helping me"

"C-can I?" her hands were shaking as she received the invitation and he nodded. "I-I don't know…I'll feel misplaced…" she whispered, cheeks burning.

"Come with this Francis person then, I planned to invite him too…" the gentleman smiled.

"Oh! Of course I'll come then… We're almost there. Two stores from here is where he works and lives." She told him.

"Well, if that is so… I guess I'll see you tonight." he took her hand and kissed the back.

Elizaveta immediately ran off, squealing and showing her invitation off to the girls her age and other shop owners that witnessed the two's encounter from inside their shop.

While she ran off, Roderich merely continued his steps to the shop Elizaveta had pointed out. There was no way he would get lost in the few meters that separated him and the shop.

"_Guten tag_…" he greeted as he entered, pushing the wooden door open gently.

Francis, who was attending to some customers, turned to see unfamiliar face in front of him. "Yes, can I help you?"

"Are you the accordion man?" Roderich asked, stepping forward.

"_Quoi_? Now I had my name changed without my knowledge…" he scowled and sighed. "Yes, I can play the accordion."

"I would like to invite you to my party tonight." he produced another invitation from his pocket and presented it to him.

"Party? Why would I come if I don't even know you?" Francis raised a brow sceptically.

"Ah, how rude of me…I'm Roderich Edelstein; actually I'm Arthur Kirkland's neighbour." Roderich introduced himself.

Francis turned around completely upon hearing the dreaded name, busying himself with unloading the newly arrived oranges. "No, I don't want to come; you may take your invitation somewhere else, but not to me…"

"Will you listen to me first?" Roderich tried again.

"I don't have time; can't you see I'm busy?" Francis bit back viciously.

Roderich sighed but he decided to continue anyway. The man before him may be the one who could resolve Arthur's problem. "It's not only you…I've done this to several of his acquaintances…"

"_Ce n'est pas mon problème._" The Frenchman huffed.

"Why so stubborn?"

"You're the one who's stubborn!" Roderich flinched at that, hitting his last straw. He reached his hand out and dragged the Frenchman out to the local coffee shop.

"H-Hey let go of me!"

* * *

Francis blew the smoke smoothly from his lips while Roderich covered his nose with his silk handkerchief, in a silent protest of smoking people near him. Francis didn't want to acknowledge that he'd actually lost the battle with the lean Austrian, and now they sat on the terrace of a coffee shop, owned and managed by the Vargas brothers, completely silent.

"Okay, I'm listening to you…" Francis finally broke the ice, turning to the gentleman across from him.

"Good. You know, it's really not fair if you make an enemy of someone you barely know." Roderich muttered.

"Hey, he started it. It was okay until he slapped me…" Francis pouted a little childishly.

"Well…he has this issue…that makes him…how do I put this? Avoid contact with certain people…" Roderich fumbled around with him words, a little uncomfortable.

"The poor right?" he scoffed.

"_Nein_," he paused when Feliciano delivered their order with wide smile on his face and he nodded in gratitude. He only continued when their waiter left. "The…French."

"Huh? That's the weirdest thing I've ever heard of." The Frenchman raised one of his eyebrows.

"That's why I asked you to not hate him…" He poured the cream inside his black coffee before slowly sipping it.

Francis crossed his legs, "Why does he hate French people, then?"

"That is something you should ask for yourself…I can only help you with this…" he pushed the invitation on the table with his index finger towards Francis.

Francis tilted his head, puzzled.

"And, what exactly makes you come to me to present this invitation? I probably will decline it, you know…" He pushed back the invitation in the same gesture to the aristocrat.

"You won't…" He stated with confidence and corrected his glasses. "I'm a gambler and I'm sure 100% you will come. After all, I told you about his 'circumstances' and it's pretty much assured that you will try to fix it." He sneered and pushed the invitation again to the Frenchman.

* * *

He propped his hand on his chin, staring at the invitation in his other hand. He was still at the coffee shop even though the Austrian aristocrat had already left for some time ago. His coffee had grown cold and he didn't bother asking the Vargas brothers for a new mug.

"Fool! He must be planning some prank at his party. Why else would he invite you?" Francis sighed as a loud voice suddenly headed his way.

"Don't compare him with you Gilbert! I'll go whether you like it or not!" and now he couldn't resist rolling his eyes as the stomping feet got closer and closer.

"Why wouldn't I like it? After all, I want to see you crying because the people bullied you there, knowing you're just a poor girl!" Gilbert yelled back, sarcasm lacing his tone deeply.

"They wouldn't do that, they're…" Elizaveta inhaled before continuing, "…educated!"

"Oi, shut up you two!" Francis hollered before Gilbert could reply. "Can you turn down a bit of your volume? I'm trying to think here…"

Gilbert diverted his attention at the blond man. "Aaah…trying to look smarter, Francis? Already tired with women and trying to think about something else?"

"No." Francis coldly answered, crossing his arms.

"Ah, I forgot you were invited too. Francis please accompany me to the party." Elizaveta pleaded.

"I don't know, Elizaveta, I don't feel like going…" he turned the other way.

"See? Even complete bullock like him doesn't want to go. He must be sensing something that you – silly woman – can't feel…" Gilbert sulked.

"Not that, _imbécile._" Gilbert gasped when his friend went to the aid of his mortal enemy. "There's something that I must do, but for some reason, I feel hesitant…" he played with the rim of the thick caramel colored paper, graced with golden inked cursive penmanship on its envelope.

"Hmm…why don't you try to solve it? I know you're not one designed to think… But if you finished your business faster, would it be better for your brain?"

Francis fell silent at that. Elizaveta had a point. Besides, – he didn't know whether his meeting with the Briton had anything to do with it – in the past days he kept on having the dreams about his late British wife – whose death he couldn't even remember – screaming in agony.

"Fine, Elizaveta…you win. I'll pick you up later, after I ask the Vargas brothers to take care of Mathieu while I'm gone…"

* * *

They arrived by foot, since they had no carriage. The only carriage they had was for docking the goods for the market and they decided that walking would be better than being mocked and embarrassed.

"It's huuugeee…" Elizaveta whispered in awe.

"Now shall we go in, Princess?" Francis invited with a wry smirk.

"Of course! But before that, you must wear this mask. It is written on the invitation." She informed him, holding up a mask in her hand.

"Oh, I didn't notice." The Frenchman simply shrugged.

"Of course you didn't notice it, you didn't even open your invitation yet." she shoved the ornate mask over her friend's face before putting hers on and stepping inside.

The bright lamp hanging on the ceiling made their fade-colored attires unnoticed; besides, the people were too busy minding their own business, laughing and mingling, drinking and eating. Francis didn't know what should he do inside this kind of party. Insecurities came to him from everywhere, and to be honest, he didn't like it.

He sighed when he found Elizaveta nowhere near him. Perhaps she was wandering around to find the Austrian and say thank you. Well, maybe he too should try to enjoy this party; besides where else you can enjoy fancy food and drinks _for free?_

And of course he wasn't forgetting his main purpose here: _The Briton_.

It had proven to be hard to stroll between the sea of masked people to search for a certain masked man while busying himself with the fine wine and torte. At least he found Elizaveta, who was dancing with the aristocrat who just abandoned his piano to greet her.

Then he spotted a certain sour-faced man sitting in the middle of two girls. He was wearing such a lavish mask to cover his face but Francis somehow was sure that the man was the man he was looking for. It was clear that the girls tried to impress him with the talking but the man only responded to maintain the mannerism, the usual slight smile and then the bored face._ I guess I found the _gentleman_._

He put his glass of wine and the remains of torte on the floating tray of a servant before walking over to the bored man. He knew that Caterpillar Eyebrows wouldn't recognize him behind his mask and attires, and deep inside, maybe even wishes he knew who he was and wouldn't mind leaving the rather chatty girls for him.

Arthur raised his head to find a stranger looking at him. The man didn't talk and only stared at him, but soon after Arthur acknowledged his presence, he reached out his hand and made a 'follow me' gesture before turning back to the crowd. _Who was it?_

Whoever he was, his instinct told him to follow – it seemed a whole lot better than sitting with the brainless girls. Besides, he was tired of talking to other businessmen. He bid his polite goodbyes to the ladies before following suit. Through the dancing, mingling, eating crowd, he managed to free himself from the weariness of the party.

The stranger waited on the front door; smiling. His blue eyes were so friendly, Arthur felt a blush creeping to his face. Suddenly, he thanked the Lord that he wore the mask. The stranger walked down the stairs to Roderich's garden of flower, waiting. Arthur gulped and chased after him again.

Roderich loved flowers and plants, so it was no wonder that his huge garden almost got him lost. It was like when he walked into a labyrinth and his eyes had to get used to the lack of light. The merriment of party was now left behind. The people couldn't see him anymore, and he could only heard a little of the orchestra.

When he turned left at the roses' section, he found the stranger. His sapphire eyes glowed when Arthur stepped closer and he noticed the glowing was caused by the distant light. The man was still smiling, his golden locks draped softly on his shoulder, framing his face.

"Who are you?" Arthur whispered, entranced.

The stranger put his index finger in front of his smiling lips, while the other hand asked him to get closer. For some reason, he felt compelled to comply. The stranger reached out like he was asking Arthur to hold it. Seeing as he'd forgotten to slip his fancy gloves back on before chasing the man, the Briton found himself reaching out to make contact between both their bare skins.

Reluctantly he put his palm on the stranger's, waiting for something. He felt a soft tug on it to make him get closer, trespassing in his personal space. The other man's free hand then softly caressed his face.

He jerked, but his hand – which was still being held – kept him in place. His touch felt warm and made him relax. Arthur closed his eyes and didn't complain or even try to escape again when the other man gently removed his mask.

The man mapped his face with his fingers, caressing every surface he could touch, as if he was afraid that he would forget the next day. Arthur clung with his free hand on the stranger's upper arm and fluttered his eyes when he felt the soft dampness of lips landing on his jaw and trailing to his lips.

As their lips met, Arthur gave up immediately and opened his mouth to give the other man access. He ignored the voices in his head, protesting that he'd kissed a man – he just didn't care. Now both of his hands clutched the stranger's back to keep him from falling and he moaned a little when the other man sucked the air from his lungs. His partner propped his head and held him at the waist – they closed their distance with a steaming kiss.

A thin string of saliva hung as they separated to gasp, forcing air into their screaming lungs. The stranger licked his lips while tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and Arthur thought he saw the friendly gaze change into a darker shade of lust- or was it only his imagination?

Still within the grasp of the stranger, Arthur slowly removed the other's mask. Golden locks flicked from the movement and fell around a familiar face. Arthur blushed brightly, his mouth falling agape. Francis let go of him –just in case he was in a slapping mood again tonight- and Arthur dropped to his knees in the grass.

"Y-you…you…"

"It's okay, _non_? You've just been touched and kissed by a Frenchman and you didn't die. Good sign, no?" Francis chuckled.

"W-wha-" Words just wouldn't come out. Like his communication center was down or something.

"Look, I'm helping you get over your paranoia of French even though you already slapped me, so please, just talk to me. I'm afraid you will give me a punch considering our kiss…" Francis inched forward if only a little, waiting for a reaction.

Arthur didn't respond. He looked down at the dirt in the garden and Francis heard a small sob of regret and suppressed anger from the other man. Sighing, he dropped to his knees and cupped Arthur's chin, lifted his face and made him look at him. He smiled and brushed his thumbs over Arthur's cheek and below his delicate eyelashes, cleaning the teardrop glistening in his eyes.

"I liked you better when you were acting 'holier than thou' with me, rosbif..."

He kissed his temple, a habit when he was reassuring little Mathieu, but for Arthur, it was something unfamiliarly calming.

He didn't even know how long he was in the garden, holding Francis' mask tightly and staring at the place where the other man stood, even though he knew that the Frenchman had disappeared from his sight long ago.

* * *

Francis walked home alone since his business was already done, even though he hadn't gotten the exact answer to his questioning about Arthur's hatred towards Frenchmen. Well… he didn't really get any information at all, except for the kiss, which somehow felt really good even for his standards. Yes, he definitely enjoyed it very much, even though he knew that the Briton might later want to forget what had just happened between them.

"Francis!"

Said Frenchman raised his head to see his Spanish friend welcoming him with a wide smile. Behind him a certain albino German was sitting and sulking.

"Hmm, you two loved me so much that you waited for me to come back?" he teased.

"Where's Elizaveta?" the albino asked immediately.

"Ah, Mr. Roderich will take her home later, surely. What's this? _Es-tu jaloux_?" Francis raised a brow, smirking.

"N-no! I just want to see her teary face because she got bullied like I predicted she'd be, that's all!" Gilbert retorted viciously, face red.

"There was no bullying there, the food was absolutely tasty and Mr. Roderich always kept her company." Francis supplied, picking at his nails gleefully.

"Wh-wha-"

"Gilbert…" Antonio warned him and his face changed to stern expression when he turned to face the Frenchman. "…you know it's not the time. Francis…there was…umm…"

"Police looking for you." Gilbert finished, feeling the Spaniard reluctant to continue.

Francis froze and forced a smile to comfort his friends.

"Well, then…" he started to walk further towards the market, to the Vargas coffee shop and knocked.

"What will you do?"

"I guess…I must go." He sighed dejectedly.

"B-but…"

"No buts, Antonio…I don't want to put all of you in trouble. Besides, I still want to inhale fresh air and I don't know whether they've left forever or will come back here…" still smiling, he knocked again and the older Vargas opened the door with little Mathieu sleeping in his arms.

"Thank you Lovino, I'm sorry to have troubled you with Mathieu…" he took Mathieu and the little boy squirmed, recognizing his father.

"No problem at all…so, you've heard from those two jerks?"

"Sadly yes, I'll leave tomorrow." He tried one more smile before promptly turning around and walking away from the three people who stared hopeless at him.

* * *

"Are you ready to leave?" Arthur asked from behind his son's room's door.

"Yes Father…"

They prepared thoroughly for the uncomfortably long journey in the carriage. Alfred packed his bag with so many sweets –courtesy of their cook- that maybe later, even his father might want them too

But as their trip started, he noticed the silence hanging over his father.

"Why are you so quiet?" he finally asked.

"Because I don't have things to talk about." Arthur simply answered.

"Are you still mad at me?" Alfred gasped lightly, fear shuddering through him.

"Huh? Oh no, no Alfred…" his father quickly abolished his fears with a tight smile.

"Father, can I ask you for something?" Alfred tried again, wincing.

"As long as it's not impossible." Arthur shrugged, all ears to his son.

"Can we visit Matthew first? I want to say goodbye to him and his father since I don't know when we will visit here again…" Alfred pouted in pleading tone.

'_Ugh…why he must ask me that? Doesn't he know that I don't want to see that child's father right now?'_ He screamed in his mind, but outwardly, only pretended to consider it.

"We-well…I guess you can." The words came out before he even knew what he was saying.

And, not wanting to break down the joy shining in his son's eyes, he couldn't do anything else than comply.

He knocked at the top of carriage with his cane and told the coachman to stop in front of the nearest suit shop. When the carriage stopped, Alfred dragged Arthur along the cobble street hastily.

Alfred halted in front of the fruit shop; he remembered that Matthew's father was sitting in front of the shop last time he saw him around these parts. He let go of Arthur's hand and walked inside, the gentleman tidying up his clothes while his brain formulated the words he'd utter and how he'd react when he came face-to-face with the Frenchman in front of Alfred.

"Where's Mathieu?" Arthur immediately asked as Alfred walked out from the store a moment later, looking dejected.

"He's not here anymore…" Alfred sniffled sadly.

"Eh?"

"He already moved…" the child hugged his father, trembling.

Arthur patted his son's head sadly to try and comfort him, refusing to acknowledge the own spark of regret that flashed through his heart at those words. Together, they silently walked away from the busy street and back to their waiting carriage.

**~to be continued~**

Translations:

(French)

_Ce n'est pas mon problème_ : It's not my problem

_Es-tu jaloux? : _Are you jealous?

(German)

_Guten tag_: Good morning

_Nein_: No


	4. Diving to the Rat Pit

EDIT: woohoo! get beta-ed by the lovely **Legend of Zelda 4 life **thank you dear, how can I go on without you *3333*

**HAPPY 107 YEARS MARRIAGE ANNIVERSARY FRANCE & BRITAIN! ***get shot* this fic posted 1 hour late orz but I know some countries outside Asia just started their day :)

Oh I always forget that this fic's title doesn't have correlation with the plot of actual 'the Prince and the Pauper' I used it just to state their status differential. There will be many character will popped up randomly in this fic. Thank you for bearing with my insufferable grammars, and I'm still in the need of BETA T_T (Beta's notes: No you don't *evil laugh*)

**Lawliette93:** Wah thank you, I'm happy to see USUK fan :DD I used to love them too, but maybe my pairing wheel rolls to FrUk at this time :D or maybe threesome will be good too /is shot

**R.S. Xavior, Ai no yoake, ultimatebishoujo21:** Thank you, I hope you enjoy the new chapter installment :D

**Eternally1Yours: **Thank you!Since if he said something, Arthur will recognize his voice/accent, it seems the silent gesture is the right one to lured Arthur *3*

**Amelie d'Berose:** Thank you for the corrections :D and they're cute, aren't they? *3*

**Musingsage:** Hehe if I give you spoilers, it won't be interesting anymore, right? :D

**The Hetalia Fan:** I'm confused too XD but thank you and zomg how can you read my mind! I'll give the revelation in this chapter XDD

**Anonymous:** Whoa, calm your tits dude/dudette/whatever you are. Brotip from this maggot: be creative next time when you want to flame or something like that…I'm very aware that you copy-pasted this thing from the internet, I'm afraid it'll only make your perfect image worse, since ppl will see you as lazy ass.

I want to thank you anyway for the insults you gave me, I ain't even mad; this smelly author can use it sometimes as her fic materials. They were rather 'colorful' and 'original' than to say 'fuck off, you suck', we need diversification sometimes, right? /snickers

_Beta's Note_s: That anonymous review is truly inspiring 8D I will sleep less dumb tonight~

* * *

**Chapter 4: Diving into the Rat Pit**

Mathieu stared at the toy shop display where his Papa asked him to wait while he went inside the bread shop across the road, asking for a discount on yesterday's breads.

His eyes widened at the new train set in the display, the same model as the one he'd seen in Alfred's house. Unfortunately, it was something he knew kind of impossible to own because of their economic condition and he didn't want to burden his Papa with his unnecessary wish.

Unbeknownst to him, the owner of the shop noticed him quickly and went outside, pushing him away from the display window. His excuse for mistreating the child was that Mathieu's filthy hands were making the display glass dirty.

The little boy backed away immediately in fear, only to fall into a stranger's warm embrace. He looked up to find a pretty, long-haired Asian keeping him standing.

"Hey! Don't be so mean, he's only a child, aru!"

The shop owner seemed like he didn't want to prolong the bickering with the Asian. Instead, he closed his shop's door with sour face. Mathieu was still staring at the long-haired person behind him, trying to figure out whether that person was a male or female.

"How rude, aru." The Asian squatted and picked the white polar bear stuffed toy up, handing it back to Mathieu.

"Thank you, Miss…emm...Mister?"

The Asian was momentarily startled and started to laugh uncontrollably when he registered the cause of Mathieu confusion. "Child, I'm a Mister…remember that, aru." he brushed his hand to Mathieu's hair, causing the little child to blush very hard.

"Mathieu?" a familiar voice called him from behind, sparing him more awkwardness. Relieved, he ran towards his father, who had a puzzled expression on his face, caused by the unusual situation unfolding in front of him and mostly by the ambiguity of the other man's gender.

"Papa, the Mister over there helped me!"

"Oh, _pardon_…thank you for helping my son."

"It's no problem, aru. Next time, though, don't leave him alone like that. You don't know what could happen to him." The man turned around and disappeared between the sea of people, leaving both father and son to stare in confusion and guilt.

"Ah yes, I won't leave you alone…"

"No, Papa…I was…um…" He hesitated to tell his father.

Francis eyed the surroundings and quickly found the toy shop with his weary gaze. He smiled bitterly and clutched Mathieu's little hand, leading him back to their new home.

It was a completely different environment from their previous one. Their new rent house was located in rather shady alley where big rats could show up anytime they liked. Mathieu hated it passionately since it was because of it that his Papa had been forced to work on the streets again with his accordion – working like a dog, even in the constant rain, so they could have something to eat and not get kicked out by their landlord.

Truly, Mathieu absolutely despised it... but maybe it was the best place to live, for now.

"Papa, why did we leave?" he asked again, just another instance to add to the several times he'd asked ever since their move-out last month. "I loved Grandma, Miss Elizaveta, Uncle Gilbert, Uncle Antonio, Unc-"

"We had to leave, Mathieu…" Francis cut his sentence short. "Or else, they would have gotten burdened by our presence…" he smiled and started walking faster, almost dragging little Mathieu along, who tried his best to synchronize his steps with his father's long strides.

"Are we nuisance?"

Francis stopped abruptly, which almost made the baguette fall from the paper bag. His little boy had never pushed too far when he gave him explanations, but today he seemed different. He'd decided to talk to his father about what had troubled his innocent little heart.

Francis bit his lower lip, trying to find the satisfying answer but all he could think of was that it was him who made little Mathieu experience things like this at such a young age. If they found him, though, they would surely take Mathieu from him and it was something he couldn't fathom since Mathieu was his child, right?

"Papa?"

"_Oui_? I'm sorry…I-I don't think that we're nuisance for them…we just... had to leave." He whispered.

"But you said we didn't have to move anymore…" Mathieu pouted, uncomprehending of the situation.

"There are…certain circumstances in which promises are broken. You will understand it when you're big enough." He smiled reassuringly and swooped Mathieu up, carrying him with his free hand.

"When I am big…" Mathieu pondered. "…as big as Alfred?"

"Hmm…maybe…" Francis kissed Mathieu's cheek and the little one giggled. He seemed forget all about his question as well, especially once he snuggled into the crook of his father's neck.

"Papa…you're a bit warm…"

"What do you mean by warm? I'm always warm." he teased and jogged a little to get home faster.

"Not that Papa," Mathieu scooped Francis' face with both of his hands, staring at the pools of sapphires. "Are you sick somewhere?"

Francis smiled at the child's innocence and covered his wince with a chuckle. "_Non, non, mon bébé_, I'm alright…if I were sick, I wouldn't be able to carry you like this, would I?"

"Really?"

"_Oui_, now we should go home quickly to eat. I'll cook you some cream soup and we'll eat with this bread." He nuzzled his son lovingly.

* * *

Alfred munched on his meal slowly, avoiding his father's eyes ever since he'd asked them to have dinner together. He couldn't even feel the tasty gravy from the steak in his mouth while both of them sat in silence, tension quickly building up. He had always been told by his father to sense his surroundings' moods, but he mostly failed. It was only at times like these that he always got it right.

His father wasn't pleased at all.

"It's only been a month…" his father muttered at last in an effort to open a conversation. "How many teachers has it been already, Alfred?"

Alfred kept his mouth shut at that. Arthur examined his son before he placed a slice of meat inside his mouth. He would give his son time to explain what was going on in his head when he decided to make 4 teachers successfully leave in a single month.

Alfred simply pouted. How many times had he told his father that he didn't like being here? The house was too big and he didn't even recognize most of the servants. Their lineage had it so that his father was related to the Queen by a longshot, and had been rich since he was born.

Not only from his ancestors, but also added with his own successful in driving a coal mine and company, somewhere in South Africa, Arthur was quite a sight to behold.

Alfred didn't like having a busy father and to have that lonely feeling when he saw children his age going to school with their friends. He couldn't do so, seeing as his father had decided that he should be home-schooled and learn his path as the heir of the company.

At first, he hadn't minded, since his mom always accompanied him, read him a story book, played with him and helped him ride a horse. But now that his mom had disappeared and no servants were capable of filling the hole, he just felt lonelier and lonelier as time flew by.

"…I don't want to be here…" he finally whispered.

Arthur sipped his tea and dabbed his lips with a linen napkin. "Where do you want to go? We can plan a trip together, if you like." He suggested.

"No, Father…you don't understand... I don't want to go on a trip, it's just that I don't want to live here. I want to go to the summer house!" the little boy tried once more.

"No."

"Father, I promise, I'll behave and study…I want to see Matthew too…" Alfred felt tears of desperation pricking at his eyes.

"No, Alfred. You know Matthew already left, anyways."

"What about mom? Maybe…maybe…maybe she'll come back when she sees us there!" he cried out.

"No, Alfred, how many times do I have to tell you that she won't come?" he was starting to lose his patience. "She won't come since I forbade her to come near us!"

Alfred's face was devastated. He was more than just shocked by his father sudden outburst. He didn't know why his father became so emotional when they spoke of her, like she was some kind of taboo. "W-why…why did you do that?"

Arthur then realized that he had done something he couldn't pull back, but his inner self demanded that he keep his silence to the little boy. He diverted his gaze to his tea set and started to massage the bridge of his nose as the headache came.

Alfred eyed his speechless father, tears starting to pool inside his eyes. Too soon, his breath hitched into sobs. Arthur stood up and walked to his son to embrace him, but the little one swatted his reaching arms and made distance between them.

"Alfred…" the anger had already dissipated, and Arthur hated himself with passion at that moment.

"Why…why won't you say anything? I-I…I hate you!" the young boy cried out before jumping out of his seat angrily.

Alfred ran back to his room in tears, dropping some eating utensils on his way out of the dining room. The crystal glass and china plates' pieces scattered on the marble floor and the clattering sound of a silver knife resonated in the empty hallway. Arthur sighed and slumped to the nearest dining chair, hopeless. How could he ever tell him, how could he reveal past situations when the truth would only bring hurt to his only son?

_**- 3 years ago flashback -**_

_He returned as fast as he could from business trip, eager to see his son and wife in the summer house. He deliberately did not notify them of his arrival to make a surprise for his beloved. In one hand, he had a toy car for his son while in the other, he held a bouquet of rose that his wife liked the most._

_It was already dark when he arrived by carriage and the lack of light in Alfred's room told him that his little one already fallen asleep, even though it was only 08.00 PM. Maybe he was simply too tired after spending his entire day playing. Alfred was, after all, such active boy._

_Tip toeing to his son's room, he placed the toy car on his cabinet, day-dreaming about his surprised face in the morning. Even though he always had the same exact reaction towards gifts, running into the hallway with loud voice and a beaming face with a large toothy smile, Arthur would never get bored of it._

_Continuing with his plan to surprise his wife – who seemed to have followed Alfred in deep slumber – he walked slowly to their shared room on the second floor. As he predicted, the door was tightly closed. He reached for the doorknob and opened it slowly as not to bother his sleeping wife._

_As the light crawled and illuminated the dark room, Arthur couldn't hide his shock when he saw his wife moaning on the bed, enjoying a steamy sex session with the stableman._ _They gasped upon seeing Arthur where he stood between the doorsill before she immediately tried to reason while her man-toy fell into silence._

_After the initial shock had worn off, Arthur's green eyes flared with anger and disbelief. He dropped the rose bouquet and put his hand under his coat, pulling a derringer out from its inside pocket. He pointed it at the man-toy and then at his own wife._

_The stableman started to blabber in his language, which he recognized as French, asking him for amnesty. Arthur's eyes flicked to his crying wife, who clutched her man-toy like he was her only hope for life. He gritted his teeth and lowered his arm, turning his head in disgust and helplessness._

"_GET OUT, THE TWO OF YOU, GET OUT!"_

_The stableman immediately complied with Arthur's command, recognizing that his life was at his mercy. While he scampered off, Arthur dealt with his pleading and crying wife as she dropped and clung tightly to Arthur's trousers, her body only covered by the white sheet. She looked absolutely pathetic._

"_Arthur, dear…please…please forgive me…"_

"_Didn't you hear what I said? I said, GET OUT AND I DON'T WANT YOU TO COME NEAR ALFRED OR ME ANYMORE!"_

_Her cries were getting louder, especially when she realized that she was wrong and started to collect her clothes, packing them in slow pace before walking out from their bedroom. She looked at Arthur for the last time and whispered her plea once again, but Arthur didn't want to look at her nor hear her voice. He'd stoned his heart and he didn't regret it at all. She'd reaped what she had sown._

_Through the silence, he sat on the make-up table's chair, looking hollowly at the discarded bed. The place where he shared his love with his wife but also the proof of her betrayal when he was not around. He stood and walked slowly to the pantry._

_His loyal butler, who had rushed in after hearing the commotion, eyed him with worry as Arthur took the kerosene and a handful of matches from the storeroom. Arthur ignored the old man's soft voice and dragged the barrel back to his own room._

_He poured the liquid around the bed before scratching the match head on its striker to ignite the fire. He smiled flatly as the bed and room quickly became consummated by the hot flares before he walked down quietly to meet his butler, asking him to wake Alfred and bring him out._

_He turned to the back door as the sound of breaking window glass was heard; he didn't even change his pace when his body alerted him that there was a big amount of heat near him. He smiled contently when he saw the fire licking his wife's favorite's vines outside their room. The people near their residence came outside with their sleeping robes just to watch the big fire engulf the massive vacation house._

"_Admiring your handiwork?"_

_A calm voice from behind made him jump. He turned to see a bespectacled man in his lavender silk robe. He didn't know anything about this man, except that he was his neighbor and right now, he was trespassing his property._

"_W-what are you talking about?" Arthur spluttered._

"_I told her to quit her habits with the stableman once, but she never heeded my advice…I conclude that you already know by now…"_

_Arthur's eyes widened exponentially. This unknown man knew of his wife and her routine but he didn't tell him?_

_"Why didn't you tell me?"_

"_I supposed I didn't have to. Basically, I don't like meddling in other people's business."_

"_But you warned my wife!" suddenly, he felt anger creeping into his heart._

"_I did that for her and your family's own good. Besides, even if I'd told you sooner…would the outcome have changed?"_

_The flat tone of the Austrian aristocrat somehow calmed him down. "No, maybe…I'd probably have rushed here and killed them both, actually." He sighed hopelessly._

_They both stared at the fire and the struggling firemen in silence before the Austrian started to talk again. "Does it feel good? At least you released your anger without resorting to killing them."_

"_Yes..." Arthur replied after a while. "And I'm done for good. My wife and I…" he smiled bitterly, and did not complete the hanging sentence._

_**- end of flashback -**_

Morning quickly came, and that's when Arthur realized he had been sleeping on his study's desk, having made the stack of papers underneath him into a pillow.

Today, he had an appointment with a potential partner. Easy enough.

After he cleaned himself, he walked over and stood in front of Alfred's room, undecided. They hadn't talked since their quarrel and it made Arthur feel guilty. He owed a lot of explanations to his son about his mother, and while he knew it might not sound fair to Alfred, he didn't want to prolong hiding the truth any longer. He no longer could avoid the hurt feeling Alfred might feel as he heard the truth. It was no secret that he loved his mother very much.

Arthur took a deep breath and knocked on the door. "Alfred, I'm leaving."

No answer.

Maybe he was still asleep. Arthur scoffed and turned around to leave. Alfred always did that when he got upset, crying himself to sleep.

Well, he shouldn't say anything like that since Alfred probably got that habit from him.

And now that he remembered about his wife, he realized he hadn't shed tears when he found out she had been cheating on him and had simply left. His love for her had already vanished when he saw her that night, the pathetic woman pleading him for forgiveness not looking a bit like the woman he'd come to love.

She should've thought before she decided to cheat behind his back. Now, the room was locked forever, becoming the storage for his bad memories.

"Are you ready, Sir?" The Coachman's voice suddenly broke him free from the train of thought about his un-loyal wife.

"Yes, please proceed to the place I told you."

* * *

"Interesting."

The oriental man before him smiled and eyed him with his obsidian eyes.

"Then, I assume that you're agreeing to our company's conditions?"

"Why not?" He gave him his polite smile.

Arthur sighed and asked the Japanese to sign their contract. He was kind of afraid that the other man would refuse to join his company for trading.

"So after this, do you have any places to go? It's not a short trip, sailing from Japan to here, right?" Arthur asked, making small talk.

"Oh absolutely, actually I...plan to search for my brother. H-he and I had different mother and actually, I've only met him once when we were 5 years old, so..." Kiku trailed off.

Arthur raised a startled brow, but continued nonetheless. "Do you think he lived here?"

"My late father said that..."

"Well, it's kind of hard to look over. This area is quite wide."

"I know, that's why I'm determined to put all the effort I can into finding him."

Arthur didn't know how to respond without making his new business partner disappointed, so he just said "Good luck."

After they ate lunch together in a restaurant and the Japanese bid him goodbye after relentlessly looking at his pocket watch. Arthur decided to enjoy his time outside before he went home by drinking tea while watching the occasional passerby come and go without stopping too long.

Then something - no, to be precise - someone across the road, near the coat shop, caught his attention. A little boy with a box of shoe polish, trying to persuade the people walking by to use his services. Unfortunately, no one stopped or even seemed to notice his presence.

Arthur decided to pay just to get closer to him and approached the little boy, just to make sure that his eyes weren't playing games with him.

"Matthew?"

The little boy suddenly turned to see Arthur standing next to him. Mathieu's tiny face was dirtied by dust and shoe polish and his eyes widened in disbelief upon seeing and recognizing him. He was just about to flee when Arthur's firm grip on his wrist forbade him to do so.

"Mr. Ki-Kirkland, I-I..."

"Don't be afraid, I want you to polish my shoes, that's all." Arthur smiled as reassuringly as he could.

"Oh..." the little boy fixed his oversized shirt and asked the Briton to switch with the sandals while he polished his shoes.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur asked as Mathieu sat down to work.

"I-I'm working, Sir..." He opened the shoe polish can and dabbed the soft brush to its black surface.

"And what's your father doing? Why would he allow such a small kid like yourself work, in the first place?"

"...Papa, he-he's sick." Mathieu only whimpered.

"Huh?"

"He collapsed when he finished performing in the park, the other day. We were just about to count how many pennies we got for dinner... and his coughs were getting worse and his body was so warm lately, and suddenly he..." little Mathieu batted his eyelashes to dry the tears pouring down his cheek, but he kept smiling and doing the task at hand carefully.

"You do this work because your father asked you?"

Mathieu shook his head, but kept his eyes trained on the shoe. "He told me to not think about it, but I want to help. Papa's always working hard, so I should do something too."

Arthur stared at the boy hiding his face behind his wavy golden locks, and raised a brow. The Brit couldn't help but feel impressed by the maturity that an unlucky 6 years old boy could possess.

"Matthew, after you finish polishing my shoes, can I pay a visit to your house?"

* * *

One thing that Arthur noticed about Mathieu was the boy's reserved behaviour. He was a little bit shy, contrasting greatly with his own jumpy and talkative son.

Now they were seated inside Arthur's carriage which was being pulled along the road by two horses. Mathieu had reluctantly stepped in after Arthur had told him they'd make the trip to Mathieu's house together in his carriage, instead of walking.

"M-Mr. Kirkland...did you come with Alfred?" He asked shyly.

"No, I was here because I needed to meet a potential partner…business matters, I must do alone, but Alfred is at home." Arthur explained.

"Home...the big house that Papa and I visited some time ago?" Mathieu asked with child-like curiosity.

"No, Matthew, that's our summer house. Alfred is in our main house at this moment." The Brit clarified.

"So many houses... How many houses do you have, Mr. Kirkland?" Mathieu eyed him with his sparkly blue-violet eyes.

"Well, let's say I have some…"

Mathieu sighed and looked down at his dirty hands, gazing softly at the calloused skin. "I wish I could own a good house for Papa and I to live in…"

"…You may, someday…" Arthur caressed Mathieu's soft strands of hair reassuringly.

At last, the carriage stopped in front of a shady alley. Arthur stared at the environment, where every building stood very close, as if they didn't want to give a single rat a chance to live between them.

Arthur winced, knowing the big rats were rather happy to live in this kind of environment. He looked at the little one who was preparing to get out of the carriage and he noticed the absence of the white polar bear he'd brought along when he was visiting their summer house.

Propping the lace of the shoe polish box over his shoulder, Mathieu looked seemingly lost in thought. He looked at Arthur with his big eyes and when the businessman noticed it, his eyes widened. His doubts were confirmed when Mathieu announced their arrival, and the disbelief only shone brighter in Arthur's eyes as he looked outside.

"Yes, Mr. Kirkland, we're here." The child confirmed, as if surprised that such confusion would be etched on the older man's face because of such a small issue.

"Oh…" Arthur bit his lower lip. "…let's go, then."

They walked on the pothole-happy road silently, Arthur stepping carefully as not to dirty his new-polished shoes and fine trousers in the immeasurable number of dirty puddles littering the cobblestone.

He gasped in horror when he saw a big rat running near some dumps, into a darker part of the alley he didn't particularly wish to explore. He could feel the stares from the people residing there, and he blushed lightly in embarrassment , pondering over the nature of the unfortunate people living in this kind of environment.

For sure, it was far worse than the market where the Frenchman and his son had lived before.

Mathieu stopped in front of a rather shabby apartment-like building. He turned to Arthur, who was tip-toeing to avoid anything that could contaminate his clean figure, and threw him a look that announced they were here.

Arthur smiled sheepishly upon being caught acting like a rich snob, which in reality, he somewhat was, but he nonetheless felt guilty and uncomfortable with acting like that when he himself knew a less fortunate person than himself personally.

Despite that, Mathieu smiled and pointed the entrance. "We live here…on the second floor." he walked back to Arthur and grabbed his hand, just to make sure the rich man didn't run away, troubled with the irrational fear of being abandoned again.

Climbing up the creaking old stairs, Arthur had to hold his sneezes and coughs, incited by the thick dust and spider webs everywhere. He didn't want to attract more attention than he already had when he entered the environment with his nice suit and shoes.

As they reached the second floor, Arthur realized that there were several rooms and he also spotted a hole the size his fist on the floor. Indeed, somewhere around the corner, the renter of one of the room was in a fight with someone else, pretty obvious even from there since Arthur could hear their loud voices .

Mathieu, who didn't seem to be bothered by that, stopped in front of a door with many sexy stickers displayed on its walls. Arthur cringed at the foul taste in decoration, disgusted by the fact that the room's many owners didn't even care that they could rob a small kid like Mathieu of his innocence.

Mathieu knocked on the door and called his Papa before going in. Arthur duly noted the difference of mannerism between him and Alfred, who would just burst in from the door and talk with his loud childish voice. Even though he hated to admit it, the Frenchman had raised his child better than he had done his own.

The door creaked open and Arthur found himself faced with quite a large contrast with the outside.

Not far from the door, there was a small round table with a paper bag and ashtray on top of it. Arthur also spotted the kitchenette at the right of the entrance but the old bed in the far end of the room grabbed most of his attention.

The Frenchman was there, laying on his side, his back facing the door and his body wrapped in a thin blanket. His golden locks were sprawled in an disarray on the barely-stuffed pillow. It took him a long while before realizing that there was someone at the door.

"Mathieu…_c'est toi_?" the older man croaked weakly, not even turning around.

"_Oui,_ Papa, it's me…" The kid put his shoe polish kit near the entrance and walked to his father. The older man turned around and gently brushed his hand to Mathieu's soft strands before he realized there was someone else besides his little boy in the room. Exactly speaking, a familiar man standing at their entrance.

"Oh my…isn't that _Monsieur_ Eyebrows?" Francis smiled and got off the bed with the thin blanket still draped over his shoulder.

"What was that?" Arthur protested in indignation, immediately regretting his decision to come here.

"What a pleasant surprise to see you. And what an honor it is to have you. Now, sit."

"Why do you always order me around? I'm not your servant!" Arthur stomped his feet and made his way into the small room.

"Mathieu, could you please go outside and play with Bella? I am sure that _Monsieur_ Arthur has something to tell me…" Francis nudged his head in the direction of the door with a smile.

"Yes Papa…" Mathieu nodded and closed the door as he left.

Now, all that was left were the two adults standing awkwardly in front of the wooden table. The only sound coming from around them was Francis' neighbor's loud voice as he argued.

Breaking the silence, the Frenchman told him to sit while he left to boil the water to make some tea. Arthur complied and to pass the time, eyed the paper bag on the table curiously.

While Francis busied himself with lighting the fire, Arthur reached out to the paper bag to see what was inside. Even though he knew it belonged to the other man and knew that he would probably get annoyed if he pried, but his curiosity won over his otherwise-impeccable manners.

He poured the content of the bag on the table and raised a brow as he saw the dried roots and chips of wood, or at least the malformed things that resembled roots and chips of wood.

"What are these?" he finally asked.

Francis turned and eyed the curious Briton neutrally.

"My medicine." His hands were fumbling around for something in his pocket but he couldn't seem to find it.

"These roots?" Arthur raised a brow, sceptical.

"They're a type of Chinese herbal medicine. I must boil them before I drink the concoction." Francis walked back to his nightstand where he left his cigarette box.

"What are you sick with?"

Francis snapped his wrist to put off the fire from the match before taking a long drag of smoke. He proceeded to walk to the table, sitting next to Arthur, who was still fiddling with the dried roots and its unidentifiable friends.

"The doctor said I got influenza mixed with tiredness and stress...total bed rest for a while." he fixed his thin blanket to make it stay on his shoulders.

"Mmm...why not use the usual medicine? I heard they're more effective." Arthur suggested in the spur of the moment.

"I don't have enough money to spare for over-the-counter medicines, so I choose the alternative." He shrugged and blew the smoke from his mouth, forming a ghastly 'O'

And then, the dreaded awkward silence came. Obviously, none of them wanted to talk about what had had happened in Roderich's flower garden.

"...so what brings you in a place like this?" Francis smiled lightly, highlighting his weary expression, if anything at all. Arthur could see the tiredness seeping from his baggy eyes.

"I saw Matthew when I was passing by with business here...he...was offering to clean people's shoes a bit further off from here..." Arthur said.

"That kid... Even when I personally told him not to get so worked up over this..." Francis killed his cigarette on the clay ashtray.

"It's a good thing, I believe...Alfred and I are fighting and he doesn't want to get out from his room, so seeing you so close to your son is a pretty good thing, I think."

"Of course, he has a strict father, no wonder he would want to rebel sooner or later." he put a new cigarette between his lips.

"What the hell! You don't even know what has caused him to be like that!" Arthur snapped and stood from the wobbly chair angrily. No one had ever dared to criticize the way he raised his son before.

"I don't." Francis simply said in calm tone, looking at the angry Brit with his dulled blue eyes. "Tell me then."

"Wha-"

"In order to find out if I made a comment that was right or wrong, I have to listen to your justification..."

"It's...it's-"

"Does this thing have anything to do with your fear of French people?" The white smoke danced around him.

Arthur bit his inner cheek and winced. He didn't have the obligation to tell him, but for some reasons unknown to him, he found himself opening his mouth, "Yes..."

They spent a few minutes in another awkward silence. Francis looked at Arthur, who was hanging his head low, waiting for the green eyed man to prepare himself mentally before revealing what seemed like his biggest secret.

"My wife...cheated on me with a French stableman and left after I drove her away..."

"Does Alfred know this?" Francis took a drag of his cigarette again.

"No, I don't have any plans to tell him." Arthur's fingers brushed the rim of Francis' cigarette box lazily.

"It's not fair, you know." Said Frenchman propped his chin on one of his hands.

"I know, but he loves his mother too much. He's always asking about her when we talk..."

"…Doesn't that give him more of a right to know the truth?"

"But I don't want to break his heart." Arthur clenched his fist, all the possible outcomes to the potential situation unfolding in his head at once.

"Parents never know…What they think is the best for their children is usually not the best thing for them." he blew another puff of smoke. "…sometimes, parents are clueless of their children's capabilities and misjudge their ability to handle the truth in an uncharacteristically mature way…" The silence came instantly after Francis finished his sentence. They stared at one another's face, trying to understand their similarities as worrywart parents.

Arthur could tell they were the same, if only by that criteria, since it was obvious that Francis loved Mathieu as much as he loved Alfred.

The kettle let out a whistle-like sound, inserting noise into the otherwise-silent atmosphere.

Francis stood and broke their eye-contact while Arthur busied himself with another bunch of dried roots. Sometimes, he found himself stealing glances over at the lean man who was pouring the hot water into a cracked teapot.

"_He's thinner than the last time we met…"_

Upon remembering their rather passionate kiss in the dark flower garden, Arthur's face brightened involuntarily. The worst part was when the Frenchman with tray in his hands noticed it. "Are you sick? I-I'd feel bad if I contaminated you too."

"No, no, not at all…it's just a little hot." Arthur stammered nervously.

Francis sighed in relief and sat besides Arthur, "I never know what are you capable of, _Monsieur_ Eyebrows, especially after you slapped me in your _grande maison_ just because I held your wrist." he poured the tea into a cheap teacup.

"But I didn't do anything in the garden, when you were truly supposed to receive a kick in your arse…"

Silence.

Arthur cursed himself for being such an idiot. Why did his mouth run by itself and blabber about something that would surely put him to shame? He took the teacup and groggily sipped the tea to hide his expression.

"I still wonder about that." Francis replied rather casually, putting his fingers below his chin and rubbing his chin with his index finger. "Did you fancy my kiss?"

Arthur almost spat his tea out when he heard the Frenchman imply that and painfully gulped his tea before going red. "S-Stupid! W-why would you say that?"

"Hahaha, am I wrong? You seemed to enjoy it quite a bit." Francis chuckled weakly.

"I don't want to talk about it!" he crossed his arms and pouted. The gesture made Francis laugh, even while he tried not to choke when coughs attacked him again.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry...now what is the main purpose of you coming here? As much as I love your company, I believe you have something to say, _non_? Judging by your earlier reaction, I assume it's not about the kiss, right?" he teased and poured another serving of tea into his own empty cup.

"YOU-!" he grumbled. "No…nor do I want to talk about my wife's disloyalty… I came here for Matthew."

"Mathieu?" Francis grew suspicious, raising a brow.

"I want him to move to my main house."

Francis tensed. "Pardon?"

"Yes, I don't like seeing him stroll around on the streets and not even receive proper education." The businessman coldly explained.

"What? He's fine the way he is now!" Francis viciously bit back.

"You said it yourself. The best thing for parents is not always the best thing for children. I can't see any reason why you would forbid Matthew to study."

Francis eyebrows furrowed and he glanced away. Arthur had hit his weak point.

He knew he couldn't keep Mathieu uneducated forever, but at the same time, when money talked in logic's stead, he couldn't do much.

And now, this rich businessman was sitting in front of him, offering him something that he couldn't refuse. Arthur could sense his dilemma and he noticed that Francis' complexion was getting paler. It obviously wasn't coming from his sickness. Arthur knew he was being a mean tease, but for some reason, it entertained him.

Arthur sipped his tea and smiled cockily, finally deciding to put Francis out of his misery. "You can come, too, if you want."

"Eh?"

"I'm sure Matthew will be happy if his father comes along."

"No, we can't go anywhere." The Frenchman quickly shook his head. "The police will look for us if we leave."

His words picked at Arthur's interest. "Police? Did you run away because of the police? What did you do?"

"You know…I'm an illegal immigrant and…" Francis trailed off bitterly.

Arthur laughed. "Don't worry about that. You are safe with me. The police can't do much when they have to face one of the most influential people around."

Francis raised one of his fine eyebrows, but shook his head. "I…don't know. I'd rather stay here…"

"If you considered Matthew's future, you would put your worries aside! Or are you actually too much of a coward to step out of your safe zone for your child?" Arthur's voice rose.

"I do care, you don't understand!" Francis stood and also raised his voice to the Briton's tone before he collapsed back and slammed on the table with his intense coughs. His voice was raw and it really strained his throat and lungs when he did that.

Arthur stared sadly at the Frenchman who was struggling to catch his breath and pull his strength back. His coughs wouldn't stop in the least, his thin and overused blanket now sprawled on the floor, revealing his not-so-white oversized sweater and the protruding collar-bone beneath it. Despite that, Arthur had no intention of helping him back to his feet.

"This is the last chance to accept my offer." Arthur said between Francis' frantic coughs. "Once I walk out this room with a refusal, you'll hear from me no more."

Arthur waited a bit until Francis shakily drew in some air and talked. "…Fine, fine _Monsieur_ Eyebrows, I'll play your game…" he reached out for the teapot to have something to drink, but noticed that it was now laying flat on the table, pouring all its content on the damp wooden floor.

"Good, simply tell me when you're ready and we'll leave…"

"…On one condition."

"I'm listening." Arthur raised an amused brow. His businessman personality couldn't help but draw him to deals with conditions.

"I will become your servant. There's no way I could live like a freeloader. I can't abuse your generosity like that…" and as much as it killed him to admit it, Francis knew, in the dark corners of his mind, that Arthur was, in fact, a kind person.

Arthur's mouth opened slightly before he shrugged. "Fine, as you like." He muttered.

"When I regain my health, I'll move in…" he picked the blanket up from the floor and draped it back over his shoulder. "Just leave me your address."

Arthur smiled contently at the thought of the deal made inside Francis' room. When he reached his carriage, he demanded that the coachman take him straight back to his main house. He would take things step-by-step, rebuilding back his life.

First, he would use little Matthew as his weapon to make Alfred forgive him. Second of all, maybe he could talk to Alfred about his mother. Arthur didn't know how Alfred would react, but he gave up the struggle against his heart. He would do whatever he had to do and explain the truth to his son. Alfred may have looked like a small, scatterbrained boy, but Arthur wanted to measure the depth of his understanding.

And third of all, he would have Francis inside his residence.

He swatted his hands above his head frantically as if to erase the last thought as fast as he could. Instead, he gave his entire focus to the blurry town outside of his moving carriage.

_**~to be continued~**_

* * *

(Beta's Notes: Hello everyone~ Hope you're enjoying the story so far, because I know I am :D I'm so honoured to be able to beta this story, because honestly, it's awesome. Just figured I'd put my two-cents in. Keep reading! :D)

**Translations:**

(French)

_C'est toi? : _Is that you?

_Pardon _: A very formal way of saying "sorry". If you're interested, here's a small story about this word.

I (the beta, not the author) live in Quebec, where the French is quite different from the one spoken in France. Here, when we want to apologize, most of the time we say "_S'cuze"_ in informal situations, and "_s'cuzez-moi_" in formal ones. These aren't actual words in the dictionary, more like written pronunciations. "_S'cuze_" stands for "_Excuse_", which is the proper word for "Apology". "_S'cuzez-moi_" stands for "_Excusez-moi_", which is the proper way of saying "Forgive me".

So here, if you say "_pardon_", people, and especially teenagers, will stare at you and wonder what planet you're from. I don't think this applies in France, though, because once, I went to France, and during the flight, I heard the word "_pardon_" at least a million times. The flight attendant in our section didn't seem to understand the words "_s'cuzez-moi_", so I felt kinda awkward uttering "_pardon_" all along the 7-hour flight between Montreal and Paris.

Just another reminder of how we Quebecers are just that much different from the French -_-"

Anyways, keep reading, everyone! This story just keeps getting better and better (:

~End beta notes. That was quite long, wasn't it?~


	5. Garden of Roses

Hello~ it's me again, the disastrous grammars writer…thank you for reading, favorite-ing, alerting and leaving me reviews :D

**Musingsage**: yup but there are more XD

**kuroNshiro, misher, Amelie d'Berose, Ai no yoake, Maki-sama, Eternally1Yours, FrUKisLove**: Thank you, I hope you enjoy this chapter too!

**Flamemoon**: I love Austria too! I'm afraid he's OOC in this fic orz

**Jeanne S**: Yes, their mother is different entities :D. Oh is it true? They're hardcore smoker then XD

**Valitiel**: Thank you! Haha because in my headcanon, Francis is somewhat a mature character even though sometimes act stupidly XD

**Serene528moon**: Thank you~ I assure you that their mother is not the same person despite Matthew and Alfred similarity XDD

******The. Awesome. Yoghurt. Addict** : lolololol 24/7 oh my…I'm starting to imagine something pervert here XD and thank you too for reviewing :)

* * *

**Chapter 5: Garden of Roses**

It was dark and void, he realized as he opened his eyes. He looked to his own body, he wore his old clothes as street performance, kind of those frilly attires he already dumped because of his own age and the clothes itself, but the accordion that flung across his chest hasn't change. He decided to walk further to find the exit. It was kind of weird, his steps feel so light like he was walking on the air but he continued and ignored the feeling.

He didn't walk too far when he saw a basket and he realized that there was something that moved inside it. He approached it and looked inside the basket to find a small child reaching out his hands to him. The blue-purplish eyed boys chuckled as he took him from his little bed. He smiled and played a while with the little baby but then he realized that they were no longer alone.

A woman stood next to the basket with long yellow gown, he recognized her face and she slowly rose her hand, pointed the index finger to him while her mouth muttering something that he thought were cusses or accusations. He could only shook his head muttering denial but the lady didn't want to hear and kept talking in soundless voice.

"No!" he said.

"NO!"

He gasped heavily before the dim light welcomed him back to the small room, where Mathieu sleep next to him and let a soft breathing of tiredness. He controlled his breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

Nightmare…

He fixed his oversized sweater and get off from the bed to drink some water and maybe one or two cigarettes to calm himself. Lately the weird dreams keep popping and popping, bothering his sleep. He thought maybe there was some kind of relation with his sickness.

He decided to lit his cigarette and sit on the multifunctional table, enjoying the rather silent night. There were the sounds of horny cats or starving rats but he didn't care. He tried to erase the lady in yellow dress who was obviously not his own wife from his head but he failed, he became anxious and bit his lower lip before frantically crushed the new lit cigarette to the ashtray.

Then he remembered about the Briton and his offering also his decision, "I hope I made the right choice"

* * *

"Glad to see you this morning" said Arthur in flat tone.

Alfred still pouted; he didn't want to see his father but the old butler that he already considered as grandpa more than his own grandpa plead to him to come out from the room, Alfred couldn't resist the old man who has more care than his own father, Monsieur Eyebrows – if he cited Matthew's father – was nowhere to be found yesterday and got home by the time Alfred wanted to sleep.

"I never know that you're happy to see me…" said the little one, Arthur stunned but he kept pouring the cream to his tea.

"That's rubbish"

"No, it is not, you always hiding something from me! Even you threw mom out…"

"Silence, and eat your breakfast"

"I don't want to! I want to know everything; I'm not a child anymore!"

Arthur put his fork on the table and looked at impatient son, "It's hard to consider you as an adult when you act like this, you may sit and maybe we can talk"

Alfred dumbfounded at his father's still calm manner. He decided to follow his father's command and sit silently before taking the utensils and started to dig on his breakfast. Arthur smiled slightly and continued to cut his sunny side egg in silence, he knew Alfred's eyes still following him and demand explanation, but Arthur waited his timing.

"Are you going to talk?"

Arthur rolled his eyes when Alfred broke the silence, this kid really didn't know the word of 'waiting'. "We're eating, and I don't like to talk when we eat"

"Then finish your food hurry, look I'll finish mine and we can talk"

Alfred tried his hard to not choked on the fried rice, he filled his mouth until his cheeks puffed, Arthur snickered his son really looked like a chipmunk collecting the foods for winter.

"Fine…" he drank the water to diminish the strong curry flavor on the fried rice – his cook tried a new recipe on combining Chinese food and Indian food, he rather liked them separately. "We can talk"

"Weewwy?"

"Yes, I have one bad news and good news for you, which one do you want me to tell?"

Alfred weighed on the options, his brows furrowed while his mouth keeps on munching the absurd taste of the fried rice. He'd like to hear good news but bad news always made him curious the most. "Please start with the bad news"

"Alright, it's about your mom"

"Why did you shun her away?"

"Listen or I don't want to talk about her"

Alfred pouted, "Fine…"

"I told her to go because she was cheating on me with the stableman"

Alfred held his breath, listening to his father expressionless statement. His heart wasn't ready to the bad straightforward fact. "The-the stableman was very kind to me…he taught me how to…to ride a pony and…"

"Disappeared somewhere after your learning session and weirdly you couldn't find your mother also?"

"We-well…" it was true, and coincidentally after his mother gone, the stableman also can't be found.

"That's why I don't want to go back to summer house, she cheated on me on that house and I burned our room when you are five, I didn't even think that house will survive at that time but it is…"

Suddenly Alfred felt guilty, he understood now that his father hiding this fact to protect his heart that will always loved her mom. Oh God he said the 'hate' word to his father without knowing the reason why he acted like he always did when they talked about his mother or when he whined about the summer house.

"I don't want you to take my explanation blindly as your reason to hate your mother, I don't love her anymore but I understood that mother-son's bond are quite stro-" Arthur didn't have the chance to finished his sentence when he felt Alfred's arms circling his neck, hugging him in a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry father…I'm sorry…"

Arthur smiled and patted his son's back, "It's okay, it was my mistake too, I didn't talk to you…" he released Alfred's arms from his neck, his little boy was crying, his snot and tears were all over his face. Arthur chuckled before cleaning it with his napkin. "Shall we continue to the good news?"

Alfred nodded, "What's the good news?"

"I found Matthew and he'll live with us"

Alfred's eyes widen, he already forgot his tears when his father told him about the mother he worshipped, "Really? Really father?"

"Yes, I hope you can assist him on study, and he'll accompany you on studying and playing all the time"

"When he will come?"

"I don't know…his father is sick, he needs to get healthy before he can go to this house, and I already left him our address"

Alfred's flashed his 100 watts smile and hugged his father again until Arthur almost choked, "I love you father, you're the greatest father in the world"

Arthur couldn't help but silently wiped his tears.

* * *

Francis didn't thought that their trip will take more than a day by walking. He muttered his cusses to the Briton between his breaths, actually he hadn't completely heal enough to walk but when he saw Mathieu and pictured his future if he waited one more day to left the glum environment, he packed his belongings at the moment. He asked Mathieu to take a rest for a while on random bench when the dizziness suddenly attacked him as they arrived at the park. Francis tried to calmed his breaths while Mathieu looked at him with worry; he reached his small palm to his Papa's forehead.

"You're warm again…"

"I'm okay…" he smiled; white puffs came out from his mouth as he started to cough.

"No you are not, you're still sick"

Francis took a deep breath and tightened his scarf around his neck to prevent the morning cold seeping through the fabric. "I only need to sit down for a while…I'll be okay"

"I'm afraid you'll collapse again, Papa…I'm scared…you…you will leave me alone" tears started to build inside Mathieu's eyes and he hugged his polar bear stuffed toys tightened.

Francis gathered him and wrapped him in a tight embrace. "No, I won't leave you alone" he calmed Mathieu before adding "Now, can we continue our journey?"

Mathieu nodded but he didn't want to let go his Papa's hand for a second when they started to walk again.

* * *

They arrived by afternoon, both son and father silenced by the majestic of the main house. Mathieu thought how much people can stay at that house while his father started to regret his decision to be a servant in that house, how much time will he need to clean everything?

The guard assisted them to the main house after he informed by the main house's officer about their arrival; it was their first time being guided like they were some kind of honorary guests. As they reached the front porch, the same old butler welcomes and invites them to the living room. The living room can be compared to the whole second floor in their last rent house. Everything was shiny and clean and smells good. The big window in front of leather wrapped sofa providing the room natural light from the sunlight also the view to a beautiful garden with a pond in the middle.

"A-are we…invited in this kind of life, Papa?"

Francis shrugged and smiled. "Call it lucky, Mathieu"

The butler silently left the parent-son pairs to walked upstairs; to a certain room where he knew the lively young master might take a nap after his father told him to study. He knocked the door three times – it was his sign of his presence – and little steps owner hurriedly open the door.

"Yes?" he stared at him with blurry eyes, indeed he was sleeping and the butler can see the pillow hair too.

"They have arrived"

"Who?" he tried to process the information through his sleepy brain.

"The little boy and his father"

Suddenly his eyes wide open and he started to tidy up his clothes and hair before blasting to his father's office to inform the news and said thank you to the butler. Alfred told the butler to inform their arrival before he relays it to the head of this house and the butler complied. He stopped in front of his father's 'nest' because he often sleeps there instead of his bedroom.

Impatiently he knocked the door, very hard. "Father, father, they're here!"

He heard a long groan from inside Arthur's office and as the door opened, Alfred saw rather sully faced of a father. "What here?"

"Did you sleep?"

"What sleep?" he lied but didn't try to make his features in order.

"Well, Matthew's here!" Alfred couldn't stop being a jumpy happy kid.

"Why would you be here instead of welcoming him?"

"Um-I want to inform you…"

"Alright, now go meet him…oh tell his father to meet me here"

"Aye, aye Captain" and he left like a tornado.

Arthur closed the door and sits back to his seat, in front of him the piles of document stacking like there was no end of it. No, it wasn't the time to sit around and staring at the documents. He stood and watched his feature in front of a man sized picture behind the hidden panel.

"Crap I'm messy!"

Hastily he ironed the shirt he was wearing with his thumb and rubbed his eyes to chase away the sleepy look, he tried his best but it seems the Fortune Goddess thought it was unnecessary to help him as he heard the door being knocked.

"Ye-yes, I'm coming!"

When he opened the door he saw the 'almost homeless' man looked better than him in term of clothes and Arthur realized he just act like a nervous maiden anticipating her first date, moreover he must accepted the fact that how hard he tried, he never looked as good as the man before him.

"Did you just wake up?"

"No, why everyone asked me the same question" he let the Frenchman to come in.

"So, this is your office? Nice stacks"

"Do you know why I told Alfred to call you here?" Arthur ignored him.

"Because you missed me?" Francis smile dimmed when he saw the glare from the green eyed man. "No, actually no…" his pony-tail swayed as he tilted his head to right and left, pretended to think.

"I need you to sign the contract"

"Contract?"

Arthur materialized a paper from his table and swayed between his thumb and index finger, "This, is for prevention" he put it back to the table and ordered Francis to come closer. "Because you have tendency to runaway when I mention 'police', while you may leave by yourself, I want Matthew to stay"

"Are you crazy?"

"Maybe" Arthur shrugged.

"By demanding Mathieu here, I wouldn't leave…he's my son!"

"Well, if you can't support his education, happiness, and needs by running away, I guess it makes you unqualified as his father, he'll be fine here"

Francis 'tsk'-ed and took the ink pen from its pincer before signing it with a rough flicks "Then I may asked you again?"

"Yes please"

"You have to guarantee our freedom"

"Sure, I told you from the beginning" Arthur snatched the paper from the table and stared at Francis' signature. _'Francis Bonnefoy'_ written in cursive but he still can read it perfectly. "This- will also establish you as my servant in this house" he stored the paper to the drawer.

Francis scoffed and turned to the huge window behind the table. From the second floor he could see almost the entire backyard, it was beautiful but something picked his interest. "Why do you have the unmanaged part of garden over there?"

Arthur stood beside him and looked at the direction Francis pointed. "It's my wife's favorite rose garden" Francis let a low hum, stating he understood before Arthur continued, "there's another one in the summer house, I just left it like that…dieing and being eaten by the weeds"

Francis stared at Arthur who seemed lost in his own thought about his cheating wife or the happiness he had when she was still around. "Then it means you haven't let go" he turned to see the gardener brushed the fallen leaf near the oak tree.

"I let her go" he faced the Frenchman and found him smiling to him.

"Literally yes, but not here" he pointed Arthur's chest, "those rose garden is the proof, you haven't let go because you keep it but in the other hand you let them decayed to prove you don't care anymore…" Arthur silenced, he never thought about that but he admit Francis' words might be true, "bull's eye? Is it hard to pretend as if you're a tough man?"

"Shut up"

Francis smiled and noticed something; he hadn't put his index finger down from Arthur's left side chest, "Oh, look! You are cured!"

"What?"

"See- I'm touching you and you don't flinch!" he poked him several times.

Arthur jumped backwards, his face started to heating. Francis looked at him with curiosity in his eyes as his head tilted to his right, the soft strands once again swayed behind his back along with the red ribbon which tied them in one unity.

"D-don't…don't touch me"

"You still play the _'don't touch me'_ game?" he smirked and approached the frantic Briton, tried to pokes him again and again. Arthur kept moving backwards, trying to escape but the piles of document on the floor tripped him, his hands looking for something to stabilized him except all he can find was Francis' scarf and he pulled the Frenchman before his butt landed on the soft Persian carpet.

Some paper which scattered and flew because their weights started to falling down around them, the sunlight that crept from the big window gave the impression of angel's feathers pouring down from the ceiling. After the stinging feeling from his butt faded away, Arthur slowly opened his eyes to stare the sapphire pool stared at his light green, he gulped and turned his head since his body pressed between the floor and the Frenchman.

"I won't do anything funny" Francis broke the silence, but he didn't move an inch, "but I'm quite enjoying the view from here"

"Ugh, Get off from me wanker!" Arthur realized that his face might be as red as the beet.

Francis chuckled and stood, Arthur sat on the Persian carpet didn't want to make eye contact with the other man. "I suppose my business here already finished, maybe the butler can show me the room"

"We-well yeah…I will ask-"

"FATHER, FATHER CAN MATTHEW SLEEP IN MY ROOM?" The door burst open as Alfred run through it with Mathieu dragged behind him.

"Alfred! You should knock before you come in!" Arthur raised his voice in frustration.

"Um- sorry…" he hung his head low and rose it again as fast as he could, "why are you sitting on the floor?" Alfred and Mathieu moved their head as if looking the answer from both men.

"I tripped, now what did you say again?"

"OH! Can I sleep with Matthew in my bedroom?"

"I don't know, do you want it Matthew?" Arthur looked at the timid boy who nodded almost invisibly. "Alright"

"Hey, what about me? I will sleep alone?" Asked Francis in desperate tone.

"You're old Francis, you can sleep alone…" Francis gasped at Alfred blunt comment and he started to sulk in the corner. "Or you can sleep with father if you want, you are friends, right?"

"S-S-S-STUPID KID" Arthur staggering and once again his face blushed as red as ripe tomato, but Alfred just laughed and dragged Mathieu outside his father's study and disappeared to his room.

"So, are you going to accompany me tonight, _Monsieur_?" Francis sneered.

"Go die!"

* * *

He huffed and laid his body on the single bedded room provided by the master of this house after placing his clothes to the cupboard and helped Mathieu to organized his to fit the young master's closet. Before he realized it, it was already dark and they – Mathieu and him – ate dinner in the pantry. He stared at the ceiling and lit his cigarette to make his brain and body relaxed, the trip made him tired, moreover his health hadn't fully restored. He rolled over and found the paper bag with Chinese medication on the small table. He hated to drink the concoction, it tasted and smelled weird. Maybe he could pay another medication if he worked hard.

He didn't know what time it is, the only thing he knew that it was already late but Francis couldn't close his eyes. The worrisome about the police still topped his concern even though Arthur already guaranteed their life. He shook his head; maybe he should try to enjoy his life, wasn't that all this time he managed to escape? Maybe this time will be his last time to inhale the free air.

Two knocks at the door picked his interest; he stood and opened the door to find Arthur in his sleeping attires. His mouth agape when he saw the bunny slippers and rather cute pajama wrapped his body; Francis tried his best to not laugh at him.

"Didn't I tell you that smoking in my house is prohibited!" he snatched the cigarette and smashed it on the floor with his bunny slippers.

"And don't you know? It's prohibited for a grown up to wears such clothes"

Arthur raised one of his eyebrows, "Who said that? Why?"

"I said that, and because it will make you look ridiculous" Arthur growl and Francis laughed. "Alright, what makes you come here? Do you change your mind for my offering this afternoon? _voulez-vous __coucher avec moi_? "

Arthur stood still in front of the door, looking half pissed. "Don't give me that crap" he stopped for a while, "…I'm afraid my butler forgot to tell you"

"And what's that?" Francis leaned on the door frame.

"I will hold a party in the tomorrow, in order to commemorating my business anniversary. I hope, you'll work hard – like the other servants – to make the party wonderful"

"What should I do?"

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know, you decide." He turned and left the Frenchman, rubbing his stubble in thought.

"Maybe I can start with that…" Francis murmured to himself.

* * *

Francis woke early and grabbed his coat after he splashed some cold water to his face to freshen him a little. Wrapped in rather worn coat, he walked to the garden where he knew the storage for the gardening tools were placed. Satisfied on what he saw, he walked outside the gate and disappeared until the sun showed itself and he dragged rather large paper bag contains bushes, the branch of the bushes sticks out from the bag since the rough road ripped the paper bag here and there.

When he entered the garden, he met the gardener who just started to watering flowers in the pots. They introduced each other during dinner, where they sat in the same table, sipping the delicious onion soup while exchanging stories and from this man, Francis knew a good plants breeder who resides not far from Arthur's main house.

"What's that?" Asked the gardener while pointing the paper bag.

"This…" Francis dropped the paper bag to let the gardener see. The sturdy fourty-something man's eyes are wide in disbelief. "…is what I want to do…"

"You crazy"

"_Peut-être, mon ami_, I just want to do something about this" he smiled and continued to dragged the bag to the destined place.

* * *

One eyes opened because the sunlight seeping through the untidy closed heavy curtain. He rubbed his eyes to let them opened together and he crawled from his bed to the light source to open the curtain with his tiny hands. It was already bright and the other presence in his bed squirmed because the sunlight.

"I'm sorry to wake you up, Matthew! We should hurry and prepare ourselves for breakfast or father will get angry at me at my improper time"

Mathieu let a low hum as he clutched his polar bear stuffed toy outside the bed and stood beside the other blond. Mathieu eyes focused on someone who squatted on the dirty ground, playing with soil and replacing something from the paper bag and transferred them to the earth.

"Papa…" he absentmindedly said and Alfred saw what he sees.

"What does Francis do down there?"

"Um…planting?"

"Cool! Let's go down there!"

"B-but the breakfast?"

"It's okay, I'll give you cotton to plug your ears when my father's in rage!"

Alfred tucked his feet in his shoes and asked Mathieu to tied his shoelaces before the older boy dragged Mathieu to the backyard garden.

"Francis!" Called Alfred, the Frenchman looked upright to see the young master run with his son stumbling behind him. "What are you doing?" asked Alfred when they reached Francis' place.

"It's something I would like to ask to both of you, what are you doing in your sleeping clothes, no coat on, it's still cold you can catch influenza!"

"No, we won't" said Alfred with pink cheek while Mathieu was about to cry, admitting his wrongdoing when he heard his father raised his voice.

"I don't want to be blamed if you sick" Francis put his attention back to his current work.

"What is that?" Alfred asked again.

"They are rose bushes; I want to plant them again on their place in this garden"

Alfred silenced, the thought of rose brought him back to the memories of his mother. Her betrayal like what he heard from his father and his lonesome grumpy father whom he hated because he shunned her mother away before Alfred knows the truth.

"No! You can't!" Alfred protested in shaky voice, his eyes watery and his cheek gets redder.

Francis eyed the boy and registered that Arthur might already tell Alfred about the truth of his missing mom. "I won't respond to your command; it's your father whom I obey" Francis kept on filling the hole in the soil with the fresh bushes of rose.

"I said you can't" Alfred moved forward and pushed Francis with all his might and Francis was forced to make one of his hands as his support if he didn't want to land on the dirt.

Mathieu stood in between his father and his friend, his eyes challenging Alfred if he done something more than pushing his father. Alfred held the same determination if Francis continued to planting the roses but Francis stood, brushed his ungloved hand to Mathieu's head and Alfred's

"Don't fight" he smiled.

"I…I hate roses, father…I don't want you to plant it back! Anything is fine but not roses!"

"I understood, I don't plant the roses by your father's command either…but don't you think it's a sad thing to see the decaying roses being eaten by the wild grass?"

"I don't care"

"Listen, Alfred…your father told me that he moved on but by having the dead rose garden courtesy by your mom, I don't think he could forget her"

"But why you plant rose? It will remind him of mother…" he erased the tears' trails on his cheeks with the back of his small hands.

"No of course not, this is brand new roses – a sign of new beginning. You do know the rose symbolize 'love' right?" Alfred nodded. "This new roses will tell your father every time he looks at them that he is well loved by everyone near him, so he doesn't need to feel sad anymore…"

Alfred stared Francis with his wide blue eyes. "Well loved…"

"_Oui_, you love him right?" Alfred vigorously nodded. "Do you want to help me planting this rose for your father?"

"Yes! I want to, I love father, I will plant the roses to show my love to him"

Francis smiled, "That's good, Mathieu do you want to help Papa too?" the smallest nodded and put his stuffed toy to a cleaner place before joining Alfred and Francis squatting and soiling his hands with the dirt.

"Francis," Alfred called. "by planting this…do you love father?"

Francis stopped his hand scooping the wet soil, startled by the question. "Hmm…love is such a heavy word, _mon petit…_I'd say I kind of like him"

"Please be friend with my father…he's lonely…"

"I don't know…he has that rather rude mouth"

"But Papa, make friends is fun…" Mathieu interjected.

"Yes!" Alfred chirped. "Oh by the way…I remembered, it's father's birthday today!"

"Eh? I thought it's his company anniversary or something"

"Father doesn't bother by his own birthday, he long forgetting his own but we always celebrate the company's birthday as his own since it's his pride and all…"

"Hmm…" Francis hummed. "Have you prepare your gift for him?"

Alfred shook his head; he hadn't had the right present for his father, something that will please him. He wanted to buy him the newest ink pen but he knew that he has no money for that.

"Well I have an idea for that…"

* * *

Arthur nodded in approval when he saw the maids and servants running here and there, decorating the ball to be as beautiful as he wanted before he walked to the dining room to meet Alfred and Mathieu but only the silence greeted him and he feels the blood rushed to his head. He rushed to his boy's room but found it empty excluding the scattered toys and books on the Persian carpet-covered marble floor.

"_Where the heck they left?"_

Then he noticed their shoes weren't in their respectable place, he frowned, thinking about Alfred and Mathieu going outside in the cool morning with their sleeping clothes then ne became aware of the wide open curtain that usually still closed if the maid hadn't come in and it was obvious from the scatters on the floor that no maid came here before him. Arthur walked to the windows to see his child dirtied himself on the dirt, doing God knows what with the Frenchman and his shy son.

Alfred looked happy and the smile constantly painted in his face. Arthur tightened his grip on the curtain, feeling jealous since he couldn't make Alfred smile as wide as what he saw this morning, and Francis was nothing more than a stranger in his life but why Alfred trusted him so much to fancy his companionship than his father's?

He decided to come to the garden and told his son to clean himself before breakfast. His leather shoes' heels made pleasant echo sounds on the sunbathed corridor. Some of servants nodded upon seeing him on the rarely visited area of the house, some of them never met him on the eyes because the house was too big and the master was too busy to stroll randomly to explore his own house.

He eyed the wet grass before stepped into the garden he banished himself to visit on the past five years. The feeling wasn't much different, the only thing different was the old gazebo was no longer there, the gazebo where his little family spent the time by light chattering and drinking tea. It vanished like his wife, vanished by his order.

He kept walking until he found three figures bending their body to implant a wooden stick near the bushes below.

"Are we done with this Francis? I'm getting tired"

"Yes, this is the last stick, you can rest now"

Alfred and Mathieu huffed and slumped their body on the red soil, they didn't even mind anymore with their thickly dirtied clothes. Arthur's eyebrows twitched upon seeing the view in front of him, all this time he always tried to keep Alfred from playing on the ground, who knows he'll catch sickness by the unsterilized soil?

"Alfred" he made his presence known, and the little child automatically stood on his feet.

"F-father! I-I'm helping Francis to plant…"

Arthur's sigh cut Alfred's explanaition, "It's okay, now go upstairs and bring Matthew to take a bath, ask Ms. Norris to help you…"

"Okay father…," he grabbed Mathieu's hand and lead him back to the house.

"I thought I'll hear some yelling in this early morning" Francis snickered while tending the roses' leaves.

"I will yell at you, what do you think you're doing? Those kids can catch flu!"

"I told Alfred the same thing but he didn't want to hear, I guess he got that genes from you"

"Sod off, and why the hell you messed with my garden? I don't remember telling you to replant this part of garden with…with…" now that he thinks about it, he didn't know what plant he was planting.

"They are roses…and you did tell me that I can choose what I want to do, so I started with this" Francis stood.

"What?" Arthur almost snapped but then he saw Francis smiled.

"I'm not trying to reopen the wound, I just simply replacing the old roses so you don't stuck on the past…besides, it's sad to have unmanaged part in the beautiful garden, what will the guests said when they arrived here?"

"Hmph I don't need your sympathy"

"Fine, Master…at last Alfred is happy when I told him about these roses….well he got angry first though but when I told him these are for his father, he smiled so wide" he rubbed his chin with the dirty gloves.

"_Ah, is that so"_

Francis walked in the middle of the rose's garden once more to check on the wooden sticks and made sure they're all stably planted on the ground. As the roses grow, it'll grow its vines upside, not snaking on the ground and make someone stumbles and fall.

"Leave the roses; you still have plenty to do!"

"Ehh, I beg to differ, I want my smoking time"

"No, now help the others inside"

Francis pouted but followed the order nonetheless, besides he was hungry and who knows he could snatch some delicacies from the kitchen.

* * *

Finished with helping the guys with the decoration on the ball, he walked to the kitchen to have his breakfast but to his amusement, the kitchen people are in rather dully mood. They said they didn't know what to make since the Master rather picky about what to eat and what he'll serve the guests, they already asked him about what to serve along with the testers third times but his answer was always 'no'.

"The time are keep going but we couldn't decide, it's a big party we need to cook soon, in huge quantities"

"We don't want the Master to be disappointed…"

Francis tilted his head, "Let me try to cook him something"

"Eeh? Please don't try something funny"

"What did you mean by that? I'll cook the dishes from my country…"

"About that…Master didn't really like French cuisine"

_Ah, his trauma blocked him again from the wonderfulness of French cuisine taste_. "It's fine, if he doesn't like then he may not eat it, but I'm assume the guests will appreciate the taste"

He took the nearest apron and started to work on some foods he clearly remembers. He taught his wife to cook, the traditional recipe passed through his mother who once was a cook in a French aristocrat house.

"What are you going to make?" Asked the cook.

"_Un magnifique souper_"

* * *

"What the hell is this?" Arthur roared and the other cooks fidgeting in the corner.

"Your party supper"

"It's too French! We can't serve this to the guests!"

"And why is that?"

"I'm a British you dolt! How can I explain these things to them?"

"They won't complain I promise you, besides we don't have more time to make new dishes"

"It's your damn fault! Name those immediately so I can explain to the guests what are they eating, I hope you don't insert frog to one of them"

"No, I promise…started from this side" Francis pointed the piles which looked like chicken to Arthur. "It's chicken fricassee, sirloin steak, bisque soup, Trafalgar pudding and aspic….for the drink I guess we can serve them with Spanish wines in your cellar…"

Arthur tried one by one of the food, and must reserve his contentment on the taste. "Fine, they're passed, you can serve them at the party"

All of the kitchen people sighed in relief.

* * *

The grandfather's clock sound informed them it was 8 PM when the guests started to pour down on the ballroom. They mingling with each other and gave Arthur congratulations for his successful business before disappearing behind the foods or on the dance floor. Everything run smoothly and the backstage servants, maids and cooks can relax a little bit.

But not for Francis and two little boys who stood next to him. Francis put one plate of medium sized maraschino ice cream cake on the table. He handed Alfred and Mathieu two cones of colored cream and let them decorated the cake as they like. Alfred wrote 'happy birthday, daddy' on the top of ice cream cake while Mathieu helped him to give another icing near his writing. Alfred materialized a blue card from his pocket and put it in front of the cake. Francis read the card filled with heart drawings and a messy writing in pencil 'I love you, don't scare me with your anger'.

He giggled.

"Now, I may keep this ice cream cake until the party's over…"

"But I want to see father eats it"

"It'll be too late for you, you have to sleep"

"But"

After Francis kept the ice cream cake, Arthur burst in the kitchen along with the vague sound of the orchestra music, his face flushed, either from embarrassment or too much drinking, Francis couldn't guess.

"Damn, I can't do this, I can't"

"What makes you looks like that?"

"What looks? Oh…here…this fine lady asked me to dance, I don't mind but you know, she's F-French and I left her there, I don't know what to do"

"Dance, father…"

"I can't"

"Liar, you taught me," he then grabbed Mathieu's hands and started to spin him around, "it's easy!"

"No, it is not…" he paused and looked at the two children "What are you doing here? You supposed to be in your room, about to sleep"

"We want to…" Mathieu covered Alfred's mouth with his hand before the older blurted their surprise.

"We-we want to ask for some dessert, Mr. Kirkland"

"No sugar before sleeping, now go back to your room!"

Alfred almost protested but Mathieu dragged him outside the kitchen. Francis eyed Arthur from head to toe and the Briton felt his face heating, he cursed before going back to the party.

* * *

Francis sighed and went back to his room, it was tiring to clean all the mess as the party ceased and some guests went home while the others rest in the guest room to leave in the morning. What a party the Englishman threw, it was nothing but grandiose, well maybe he only done that once in a year.

He opened the door of his room to find his master sitting on his bed, crossing his legs while he held a half empty big sized rum bottle. "Why are you here? Do you know it's not your room?" Francis walked inside and raised his eyebrows when he smelt the thick aroma of alcohol.

"…the guests…"

"Hmm?" Francis pulled the red ribbon from his hair, let his wavy shoulder length hair framed his face. Arthur diverted his gaze as if Francis showing him some kind of erotic gesture.

"I don't want to say this but…but…t-the guests compliment your cooking…"

"That's nice to hear"

"Also, the rose garden…they'll anticipated when the roses bloom"

Francis chuckled, "So, how was the dance?"

Arthur's red face suddenly blanched, he put his face on his palm and heaved a heavy sigh. "Horrendous, I excused myself by telling her that my feet hurt to dance and I ended talking and playing billiard with the men and avoids the women…"

"That's rather sad…" he walked to the bed and stared at hopeless Arthur, he stood on his knees before searching something under his bed.

"What are you doing?"

"Because Alfred said this is your birthday too…" he dragged his accordion, and he sat next to Arthur before started to play the tunes and sung;

_Bon anniversaire, nos vœux les plus sincères_

_Que ces quelques fleurs vous_ _apportent le bonheur_

_Que l'année entière vous soit douce et légère_

_Et que l'an fini, nous soyons tous réunis_

_Pour chanter en chœur: "Bon Anniversaire !"_

Arthur stunned upon hearing Francis' voice and he diverted his gaze somewhere as the Frenchman saw him with his big smile – the song was rather sweet. "T-thanks…" he gulped the rum straight from its bottle to suppress the warm feeling which started to climbed to the center of his stomach.

"Wait here, I have something for you…from the children" Francis put the accordion aside and walked outside.

Arthur nodded and waited the Frenchman in white servant shirt to come back to the room. While at it he chugged the alcoholic beverage again. And then he came with a round medium sized cake on his hands, "Voila"

"What's that?"

"From Alfred to his father he loves." he handed him a fork and Arthur must held back his tears as he saw Alfred's writing on top of the cake and the card which stood next to the cake's side.

"That kid…" he cut the cake and surprised that it wasn't ordinary cake, he noticed it by the thick layers of frozen cream between the spongy cakes. "He's not the one who made this" he felt the cherry-tasted ice cream sliding down his throat.

"I'm just helping him"

Arthur eyed the rather big cake and cut another slice before positioned the fork in front of Francis' mouth, "Have a taste too…I can't eat this by myself"

"My pleasure" Arthur stared as Francis' lips closed its gap with the fork between them, then again he must looked away before Francis let the fork go and Arthur sliced himself another bite.

It was awkward silence and Francis could feel it in the air.

"Well," he stood in front of Arthur, who still blissfully ate the maraschino ice cream cake. "Since you don't have the chance to dance at the party…" he stopped and thinks a better choice of words to made Arthur accepted his offering. "…would you like to dance with me, _Monsieur_?"

Arthur blinked as he saw Francis curtseyed like a lady in gown, he tried to muffle his laugh but he can't and he burst his laughs like volcano eruptions. Francis' face reddened as he sees the Briton literally rolling on the floor laughing. "Have a pity for me, please! I'm doing this to please the birthday boy!" Francis protested.

Arthur swept the tears from his eyes but his stood, putting the rum bottle on the floor, "I'll lead"

"Fine"

Arthur reached out his hands and asked Francis'; the Frenchman accepted the offering and soon, both of them moving in rhythmic on a dance without songs. Arthur cursed the fact that they had the same height, dancing with him in this close distant; he couldn't help but drawn back to the sapphire eyes that kept on staring at his face.

"I-is there something in my face"

"You're weird"

"Pardon?"

"You said you can't dance with the Mademoiselle at the party, but you're okay holding me like this?"

Arthur looked down, "I don't know"

"Then maybe I can teach you…"

Arthur's face flustered, "W-what?"

"To get used to French people"

"Do you think you can?" Arthur's tone rather pessimist.

Francis stopped their dance and like on Roderich's rose garden, he started to touched Arthur's face, "See, it's okay…" Arthur shivered at the touch; especially when he felt the soft tug on his chin, "and you have crumbles left" he licked the remaining cherry-tasted ice cream cake from near his lips.

Arthur pushed him away, his face grew darker and Francis looked at him with amusement in his eyes. "D-d-don't mock me!"

"I am not" Francis opened his arms again, "You're tired and drunk…shall we dance again?"

Arthur hesitated but he walked back to the Frenchman's embrace, he murmured. "You lead…"

"_Avec mon __plaisir__,__ M__aître_"

Arthur closed his eyes and rested his forehead on Francis' shoulder, the Frenchman smelled like cigarette and cinnamon. They spent their night with dancing in slow motion, until Arthur wrapped in total darkness as the sleep claims its toll on the tired businessman.

* * *

He woke up by hearing the loud coughs from someone near him. His head hurts like hell because he drank too much but upon hearing the coughs he couldn't help but feeling it was his throat that making that noise and somehow he felt the hurt too. He opened his eyes to find himself in stranger's room – wait he knew this room – it was Francis'

After registering what happened last night, he looked his surroundings to find the Frenchman knelt while holding the door knob, dealing with his coughs and a glass of Chinese concoction spilled on the floor. "Francis?"

He turned his head to see his master already woke up, he restrain his coughs and smiled, "Bonjour, have a nice sleep?"

"Sort of…"

He inhaled deeply, "Ah I'm sorry to woke you up, I just came back from the kitchen after boiling the dried roots, but it spilled…I guess I have to make another one"

Arthur felt the sudden guilt on his heart; he should consider that Francis wasn't fully recovered but he kind of forcing him doing this and that for the party, "May-maybe you would like to see my doctor?"

"Oh no, I'm fine really, I just need some rest"

"But"

The door being knocked, the two of them froze, it would be bad if someone found the master spent the night on the servant's room, even though they didn't do anything. Arthur looked around, the room was empty and there was nowhere to hide his where about, Francis also tried to hide his master but he couldn't find anything at all, in desperation he draped the blanket to covered Arthur and now his bed has a weird bulge in the middle.

"C-come in" Said Francis on whoever it is behind the door.

It was Arthur's butler, he smiled and said, "You have appointment with Mr. Zwingli today"

Arthur popped his head from the blanket and answered the butler with low hum. The butler waited for him in front of the door, Arthur exchanging the glance with Francis and said it was okay since it was his butler whom already raised him since he was little. Francis nodded before Arthur closed the door behind.

* * *

"How do you know I'm there?" Asked Arthur as they walked down the empty corridor.

"Do you let me speak?" he asked politely and Arthur nodded, "I think you're attracted to him…and I have this instinct that told me if I can't find you anywhere, you might be hiding inside his room"

"W-Wha-I-I…" he stuttered.

"But he's not in a good shape, his body is too lean even though he's capable on doing heavy task..."

"Well, yes I think so too…" he could still feel the fleeting sensation when he embraced Francis last night when they were dancing, he could feel his bones jutted here and there – was it because he has malnutrition before he arrived to this house or something else, he didn't know.

"He's sick" the curt and distinct voice of his butler made his heart dropped as if someone dragged him into a black bottomless hole.

"He-he's in recovery form influenza, he said so"

"Oh, pardon my mistake then…I hope he heals soon"

"Yes…" he hung his head low.

"So…am I right to say that you're attracted to him?" the butler teased him this time.

"Sh-sh-shut it!"

He chuckled as he saw his master that he already considered as his own son stomped and left him in his amusement.

**~to be continued~**

* * *

It's long chapter orz, pardon for googletranslate!French m(_ _)m  
And I left some clues here hahaha *shot*

_Voulez-vous__coucher avec moi: _do you want to sleep with me? (somehow this reminded me of Moulin Rouge OST *shot*)

_Peut-être, mon ami: _Perhaps, my friend

_Un magnifique souper: _the magnificent supper

_Avec mon__plaisir__,__ M__aître_: My pleasure, Master

The song was taken from _Bon Anniversaire_ you can hear it here: [youtube] watch? v= K0G_6NRbvTo& feature = related (please erase the space) it sounds nicer than Joyeux Anniversaire or Bonne fête à toi which had the same arrangement like 'Happy Birthday' song in English…and when I read the youtube comment, is it not common to have the _Bon Anniversaire_ sung when you wish someone a happy birthday in France? Even though the video said it's 'the authentic, French version of the 'Happy Birthday' song? Orz okay

I'm sorry again since I know nothing about French food…the food I wrote was something I read in a novel m(_ _)m


	6. Lily of the Valley

Hello~ I'm happy since I got help from** Legend of Zelda 4 Life** as my BETA! Thank you so much dear for helping me, you're a life saver and I really like your editing ;3; also thanks to you who still keep up with this fic.

**Hopeful Helper:** Oh- oh no don't feel uneasy, I love your critic, I'm aware of that myself, thank you for spending time in reviewing this fic.

**Junoan:** But it sounds so cute…so I'm using it *shot*

**Valitiel:** I hope this chapter answer your question ;D

**Eternally1Yours:** Arthur will take care of him *3*

**Flamemoon:** IKR? He's more honest when he's drunk! And I want the ice cream cake too ;^;

**The. Awesome. Yoghurt. Addict:** it is blossoming wwww. He's so cute with the outfit right? XDD

**Prusse: **dfshgbsgg thank you for the review and I'm sorry for the googletranslate!France, nothing can beat the native *3* oh~** Legend of Zelda 4 Life** will help me also in French *333* I hope you can enjoy the next installment.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Lily of the Valley**

There was nothing that irritated Vash Zwingli more than the rainy weather in Britain, especially when he would meet a certain businessman in his main house. Silently he cursed the Briton for choosing to locate his house so far away from capital when everybody else competed to lead a life near London, even if that meant to live their lives like rats.

His head let a loud thud when the old gig's wheels hit something that he assumed was a big rock. He yelled the discomfort at his swollen head to the coachman but the latter didn't even hear him through the rain and the clomping of horse shoes on the wet, unpaved road. He sulked and tried his best not to get another bump on his head as the carriage went on.

At times like this, he preferred to stay at home, accompanied by his sweet little sister, Lili.

He cursed the appointment, the rain and the British man for causing his head to suffer and his butt to go sore.

After travelling for a while, Vash sighed contentedly as he spotted the big gate. To his utter relief, the rain had pretty much stopped by then as well. The front gate opened when the guard recognized his carriage and they proceeded inside.

Vash looked around to secretly admire the front gardens, until he saw an unfamiliar figure standing in front of the exotic Adeniums, plucking their yellowish leaves as he smoked. Even though he felt curious, he couldn't see his face as the carriage kept going towards the front door.

His coachman opened the carriage and Vash shot a dirty glare at him for the bad trip. The other man didn't seem to understand, so he sighed in defeat.

He walked to the front door just in time to be welcomed by the old butler. Vash nodded and gave one of his rare smiles to the butler, who led him to the living room where Arthur was already seated in his favorite arm chair, eyes wandering outside the huge window.

"I don't come here to see your melancholic looks."

Arthur turned his head and chuckled. "Of course not, I called you here to do me a favor." Arthur signaled that Vash could sit.

"I hope it's important. I left something important back home only to rush here." he sat in front of the sandy blond haired man and put his bag on the table.

"Yes, Mr. Attorney…what kind of case are you dealing with now?"

Vash opened his bag, pulled out a bundle of papers and handed them to Arthur. "An old case but my client doesn't want to stop. I'm his 6th attorney."

Yes, Vash Zwingli was an attorney, rather famous and with clients spread all over Europe. Deep down, though, his biggest loyalty lied within the Kirkland family – especially Arthur, who had helped him evolve to who he is today. So, while he outwardly complained about going all the way there, he was secretly kind of happy to be able to see Arthur again.

"Hmm…the _Duc_ that lost his signet ring?" Arthur's voice snapped him back to reality, and he nodded his head lightly.

"Yes, it was something that had been passed through generations. Without it, he would certainly lose the trust of others and his position in the aristocrat hierarchy."

Arthur scoffed and put the papers on the table. "Then, if it's lost, why does he need you? It was his fault for being careless!" he objected, thanking the maid who brought them snacks and hot tea.

"The problem is…he's not the one who lost it. He told me it was stolen, but there's something that ticked me off. The person he accused had never even been around him ever since the _Duc _was a little boy."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "Why did he accuse that person then? Who is that person?"

Vash took the time to sip some chamomile tea and licked his lips before continuing.

"The _Duc_ said that that person was jealous of him…you know that 'I'm rich you are not' situation…the person he accused was a maid with her child. The _Duc_ said the maid stole the ring to pay her and her child's everyday needs…"

"That is too much of a weak hypothesis…" Arthur noted coolly.

"I thought so too…and upon deeper inspection, I found out that the _Duc_ wasn't clean either." Vash nodded, eyes serious.

"Huh?"

"Yes, I dug around and learned that the _Duc _was involved in a fire that happened 8 years ago in a farmer's house…Inside the burnt house, the police found three bodies. A female, a baby and a male…but the bodies were, how should I put this?…strange. Yes they were strange." The attorney winced.

"What do you mean?" Arthur's eyes narrowed, his grip on the teacup clenching.

"The police identified the female as the farmer's wife and the baby belonged to them. Their bodies had…several stabbing wounds and they could find the weapon still embedded in the baby's body…" Arthur cringed, letting Vash finish. "However the male body didn't belong to the farmer…It was the _Duc_'s henchman, with a gunshot wound in the head."

The two fell into silence. Arthur started to feel his stomach squirming and he drank his tea again to ease the nausea. On the other hand, Vash was nowhere near finished, and Arthur knew how much he hated it when he was interrupted during a talk.

"Then again, the _Duc_ made up the alibi that the farmer was jealous of his wife, who was secretly shagging someone behind his back, and killed them all…"

"C-can we proceed to our business?" Arthur finally interrupted, feeling extremely queasy with the conversation.

Vash stared at Arthur before suddenly remembering what he came here for. "Oh, yes, absolutely."

Arthur sighed and pulled a paper from his file. "I want you to help me deal with the immigration department. I have to get permission for allowing someone from outside the country to stay here, _legally._"

Vash raised one of his eyebrows curiously. "You know that's _illegal._"

"I don't care. Both of us have already broken some rules, there's no threat in breaking one more…" then he pulled a pouch filled a handful of golden coins. "Bribe them or threaten them, do whatever you like. Just get me that permission as soon as you can."

Vash eyed the Briton pensively. "Is that for…the lean blond I saw working in the front garden?"

Arthur gulped down nervously, blushing. "Y-Yeah, him and his little boy. The kid needs a house to live in and study in, so…"

Vash's laughter suddenly broke out, covering up his embarrassed stuttering.

"I didn't know you were this soft-hearted!" he tidied up his papers before shoving them back into his bag.

"Shut up, here is his name." Arthur handed him a paper, leaning back with his cheeks red once he let go of it.

Vash took the paper from Arthur and read the signature intently, his gaze darkening and his smile disappearing instantly.

"Francis Bonnefoy?"

"Yes, why?" Arthur's heart leapt. Was he missing something in this equation?

"No, it's just…remember the maid and the farmer I told you about earlier?" Vash rubbed his forehead with a sigh.

Arthur growled, "And the _Duc_, yes?"

"The maid's and the farmer's family name is similar to this Francis person's surname…" Vash noted darkly.

Arthur laughed nervously, clutching the cloth of his pants. "How many Bonnefoys are there in France, anyways? I bet they're a lot…I told you earlier that this Bonnefoy guy has a little boy and you told me earlier that the farmer Bonnefoy's baby got killed. They can't possibly be one and the same." The hidden hint of desperation to his voice was barely noticeable, even to the seasoned attorney.

"Well yes, I guess…oh Arthur…"

"Hmm?"

"I just remembered that I met your father some time ago. I relayed your request about divorcing with your wife, but... he declined." Vash winced apologetically.

Arthur let out another groan, rubbing his forehead. "I thought so, too. She's still his favorite, and I'm pretty sure he loves her more than me."

"He then preached to me about divorce, and how it is something that is banned in Catholicism, how it makes you sinful and repels you from the heavens. _Mein Gott_, I still don't know why I took that preaching for you…" Vash facepalmed.

"Ugh, what did he expect anyways? We don't even live together anymore and he knew about her betrayal. Now he's shoving religion at me?" He stood up and started to pace in front of his arm chair angrily.

"No, at me." Vash snickered amusedly.

"Well excuse me then." He muttered, but his face didn't show any regret over his friend's suffering as he continued pacing back and forth. "I don't even believe in God anymore."

"Maybe you should expect a visit in the near future…" Vash stood up with a shrug and took his bag.

Arthur's face fell. "Visit? If I pretend to die, will that be enough to keep him from visiting?"

"You can't escape your father's preaching, Arthur…Now, I must take my leave. I'll come here again after the _legal_ immigration letter is finished." He nodded at his friend in acknowledgement.

"Yes." Arthur shook Vash's hand, relieved. "Be careful during your trip back home."

"I'll make sure that damn coachman watches the road enough so I won't return home all black and blue and scare Lili…"

Both of them laughed as Vash disappeared behind the corner, the butler guiding him to the front door.

The blond finally sat back down once his friend was gone, and sighed, the attorney's words coming back to him.

Divorce...

Arthur had met his wife when he was 20, in a social gathering. She was very pretty and lively, something that Arthur considered lacking on himself. She had these very bright blue eyes that fascinated him and this trait was passed down to Alfred.

He didn't know if he should be grateful for that or if he should mourn every time he looked at his little boy and remembered his wife.

They'd spent time together in the garden of roses, something that his wife very much admired and drank tea together. It was a sweet time, really, until he told his parents that he intended to ask her hand in marriage.

He never said he loved her, though. Even after their marriage, he never did.

Maybe it was the reason she left. Maybe she felt unloved.

But then again, that would be her fault. Why didn't she tell him she needed those soothing words? He could tell her a thousand times a day, in a letter, with a kiss…

He sighed as he spotted the new teacher for the children walking towards the front door, oblivious to Arthur's presence in the living room.

"Miss Emma…" he called with a cracked voice, beckoning her over.

"Oh, Mr. Kirkland- you surprised me." The woman jumped lightly, then smiled.

"Excuse me, then…So how are the children handling the lessons? Did they give you hard time?" he asked curiously.

"Absolutely not, Mr. Kirkland: they're perfect little angels…Alfred's very active in asking questions and Mathieu is just naturally bright. He even taught Alfred some basic French. You're very blessed to have them as children." She laughed.

"Oh Mat-" he bit his lip before deciding not to clarify. "Yes, they're very nice children."

Miss Emma nodded before bidding him farewell. After she left, Arthur turned around and climbed the stairs to Alfred's room to greet the children, whom he hadn't seen at all today. Soundlessly, he opened the door, only to find them stacking wooden blocks, forming a tower.

"This is where the princess is put when she gets kidnapped." Alfred declared loudly and grabbed Kumajirou – the stuffed toy- from Mathieu's hands, despite his protests. "And this is the big bad bear…roaarrrr…it will eat anybody that comes to the tower to save her. Are you afraid of bears, Matthew?"

"I-I've never met one…" Mathieu whispered shyly.

"Then if you were the prince, would you save the princess?" Alfred asked again, always as energetic.

"I would, if I had a weapon…What about you Alfred?"

"I don't want to. I'd rather eat father's scones than to bother saving them. Girls are gross…" Arthur didn't know whether he should be offended or not at Alfred's claim.

"But you will marry one when you grow up, no?" Mathieu asked, big watery eyes wide in curiosity, hanging onto every single word spilled from Alfred's mouth.

"No way! I won't!" He suddenly got up and ran to the big globe on the table. "I will travel around the whole world and find treasures. No girls allowed, either!"

"Can I come too?" Mathieu cocked his head questioningly.

"Of course, but you have to promise me to not bring your wife…or I'll ditch you in…um…umm" he turned the globe and read a random name. "In the Atlantic Ocean!"

"Okay…" Mathieu nodded shyly and smiled.

Arthur smiled and wasted no time in pushing open the door and approaching them.

"What about me? Can I come too?" he asked with a chuckle, watching the two kids turn around and gape.

"Father, happy birthdaaayyy!" Alfred stormed to him and gave him a bear hug. Arthur patted his son's head and his gaze strayed towards Mathieu, who was awkwardly standing there, watching the father-son moment.

"H-happy birthday, Mr. Kirkland." He simply whispered, unsure what else to do.

"Thank you, Matthew, would you come and give me hug?" The little boy beamed and ran towards the older man, joining Alfred in a tight hug. Arthur smiled and wrapped them in his warm embrace. "Now, answer me, Alfred. May I join you in your journey?"

"No, you're old." Arthur looked startled as Alfred went back to admire the big globe. "But as long as you don't touch the kitchen, I can allow you, father." He laughed.

"Pardon me for my cooking, then." Arthur crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

"Ah, Mr. Kirkland have you seen my Papa?" Mathieu suddenly interrupted. "I haven't seen him today…"

"Well of c-" he quickly cut his sentence off and blushed. The little child didn't need to know about him spending the night with his father. "No, I haven't." He settled for a lie.

"Oh…" Mathieu hung his head low, disappointed.

"Is there anything you wanted?" Arthur asked.

"Actually I want to go to see him, but I'm afraid of getting lost. Alfred didn't want to guide me…" the younger boy blushed in embarrassment.

Arthur shot a glare to his son who was seemingly too immersed in the globe to notice and he sighed. "If you want to tell him something, I'll try to keep an eye out for him…"

Mathieu shook his head, and smiled. "I-I just want to make sure Papa drank his medicine. He isn't completely cured yet, so..." he let his sentence hang with a dejected sigh.

Arthur gently ruffled the tiny head, feeling the soft strands between his fingers. "Don't worry, I'll remind him."

The topic was closed with Mathieu's bright smile.

He then asked about the new teacher (that they seemed to like more than the previous ones) and made Alfred promise him that he wouldn't scare the teacher like he did with the others. Alfred gave his trademark toothy grin and said that as long as he had someone to keep him company, Arthur should not worry.

* * *

It was almost dinner before he spotted the Frenchman for the first time that day, squatting near the back door near the empty kitchen, smoking and staring at something Arthur couldn't see. He looked so deep in thought that he didn't budge when Arthur approached him and squatted near him.

"What are you looking at?" Arthur asked, his gaze straying towards the dirty fingers holding up the cigarette. The Frenchman smiled a little and blew another bunch of smoke.

"Arthur…what did your wife look like?" he asked in a whisper, ignoring Arthur's question.

Arthur's eyes widened at that, and a light blush crept on his face. "Why…Why are you suddenly asking something like that?"

Francis' untied hair fell, covering his face as he faced the ground. It was a challenge, but the Brit noticed that behind the curtain of blond strands, the Frenchman was smiling.

"Nothing…I just…before you came, I was trying to remember my late wife's face…" He raised his head again as if he was challenging the darkened sky. "But funny enough, I could only remember vaguely…I just remember her sweet voice when she told me about the mythical creatures she believed in, but nothing about her face, or her body." Francis chuckled before silence fell.

"…My wife…" Arthur started, breaking the dull silence after a pause. "...was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. She had these bright blue eyes like Alfred's. I married her so I could get a little spark of beauty in my life…but maybe it was my fault she left and chose the stableman instead…"

"Why?" Francis turned to face the Briton who had his sight trained on the backyard.

"Maybe it's because…I never really told her 'I love you', and I was always so busy with work..." He sighed.

Francis chuckled as if his pain was nothing, "Women always love to hear such thing, and you should spend more time with your family if you don't want to lose something so important again…" he gave him a friendly flick on the forehead and gently chuckled at Arthur's appalled expression.

"Hey! Your hands are dirty!" he rubbed his temple. "What were you doing, anyway? Your hands look like they'll never be clean again."

"Hmm, this? I was planting again." Francis chuckled, crushing his cigarette and opting to clean dirt from under his nails instead.

"What did you plant now? My garden can't handle more of your flowers!" Arthur crossed his arms.

"_Ne t'inquiète pas_, I only planted one flower in a flowerpot." He stood and walked to a corner. Arthur never really saw what he was doing until the Frenchman came back with a clay pot in his hands.

Arthur couldn't help but notice the sweet smell of flower when Francis squatted back beside him, showing him the…huge leaves. "What is that?" he asked, curiously touching the leaves.

Francis smiled and uncovered a stem of bell-like white flowers hiding behind the leaves. They were so small, you could barely see them, and the big leaves didn't help either. "This is the lily of the valley…it's cute _non_?"

"…Yes…" Seeing the Brit's fascination with the delicate plant, Francis handed the pot to Arthur so that the man could inspect the flower further.

"The nice _Meneer_ who managed the plantation breeds where I bought the rose bushes some time ago gave me this; I took it immediately because I feel like this flower resembles me in some sorts."

Arthur laughed, "In what perspective? This flower is small, cute and has a nice smell…You are a tall man, not cute at all and constantly smell like cigarette…"

"Well, I wasn't really thinking about our similarities on the physical plan, but..." The Frenchman couldn't help but chuckle at the joke, even if it was at his expense. He'd have to get the Brit back for that. "Did you know that if a guy smells the scent of this flower, it is said that their sperms will get excited?"

"Wh-wh-what?" Arthur blanched, staring at Francis incredulously.

Francis laughed, "Keep the flower, _mon cher._"

"I-I don't want to!" The Brit protested vehemently, handing the pot back to him like it was made of poisonous oak.

"I got that for you, you know. At least keep them for a couple of days. They'll only bloom like this – if you want to put it that way – for a few days, so you'll have to wait at least a year to see them bloom again."

"That long?" The businessman winced.

"_Oui_…treasure it will you? Promise me…"

"What the hell, you're acting like your heart lies within this flower or something!" Arthur swatted his melancholic face away with a wave of his hand.

"Like I said, the flower represents me best... Including the 'makes the sperms excited' part." Francis winked saucily, bursting into laughter at the Brit's embarrassed expression.

Arthur would have thrown the pot he held at the Frenchman if a familiar voice didn't call him for dinner. Both of them turned to see the old butler smiling. Arthur flushed as if the smile had a double meaning and trotted towards the dining room with the flowerpot in his hands. Francis gave the butler curt nod and the old butler stopped him before he could leave.

"Little Mathieu was worried about his father. Have you taken your medicine?"

"Oh, I'll drink it later, before going to bed…thank you for reminding me." He played with an unlit cigarette between his lips.

"Not at all, maybe I'm the one who should thank you."

"Huh?" Francis raised a curious brow at that.

"Well, I have to go…maybe we can talk later…"

Francis nodded once again and tailed the retreating butler with his eyes before the garden caught his attention back. The beautiful dim light and the orchestra of frogs and cicadas singing on the pond momentarily transported him to another world where strife and misery were just words in a dictionary.

* * *

"Where did you get that plastic flower?" Alfred asked once they were all at the dining table, Mathieu also stared at the flower curiously, never having seen one so delicate before.

"This is not plastic, Alfred, can't you smell the scent?" the businessman asked his son.

"Yes, I can smell it, but if you ignored the scent, it looks like a fake flower, right Matthew?" His boy was looking for a backup and it seems the backup he found had the same thoughts as he did.

"Your Papa, Matthew, was the one who gave me this flower…and he said that this flower represent him the best. If you think this flower is plastic, then you think your father is also a piece of plastic"

"Eeeeh?" Mathieu's voice shook, tears massing in his eyes.

"Father, you made Matthew cry!" Alfred protested, gasping.

"Aah- I'm sorry, I didn't mean literal plastic, I mean he's…"

"Fake?" they turned to see the Frenchman coming in with a dessert trolley.

Alfred beamed upon seeing so many desserts, he rushed to Francis and grabbed everything he could, while Mathieu ran to his Papa and hugged his thighs. Francis consoled him with French words in low hum, so low that Arthur couldn't even hear the soft-spoken words. The only thing that made him preoccupied was the flower. He eyed said plant and understood where Alfred and Mathieu got their conclusion.

"_It indeed looks like a plastic flower…"_

"Please be careful when speaking with the children."

When Arthur got back to the reality, he noticed that the children were already missing. Francis took a seat beside him and bit into a small fruit pie. He then informed Arthur that the children already headed upstairs to sleep.

"I was defending your flower you know; they said it was plastic." Arthur sulked.

Francis smiled, "What do you think?"

"Before they mentioned it, I didn't really think it looked like one…" Arthur dropped his chin on the table, his hand caressing the leaves.

They enjoyed the silence in each other's company, Arthur with the flower while Francis ate the dessert. The atmosphere was somewhat awkward, and none of them really knew what to say to make it brighter. Arthur almost fell asleep, that is, until he heard Francis' body shake with small coughs.

"It is true though…" he whispered once the dry coughs were gone.

"Huh?"

"The plastic flower and me…I've always thought the same way you did for a moment there." Arthur raised his eyebrows in confusion. "Have you ever thought, before inviting me to this house, that I could already have lied to you before?"

"What?"

"Think for a moment. Is it really okay to let someone you barely know stay in your house…?" he smiled wistfully and set the leftovers on the trolley.

Arthur dropped his back against the dining chair. He didn't look at Francis but at the flower. "If that's the case, I'm going to give all my servants and maids -except my old butler- their retirement, since I don't know and I don't care what the hell their secrets are and what lies they've told…they're people I barely know too…"

"What if the people you barely knew – especially me – got you in trouble?" he stood near Arthur and bowed down to pick his plate up.

Arthur suddenly reached out and grabbed the collar of the Frenchman's shirt, pulling him before he could back up, up so close that their noses were practically touching, Francis' eyes widened when he saw smirk playing on his master's face.

"Just try. If you were planning to tangle me up in your shit, know that I'll make sure that much greater trouble will haunt you. You have been warned."

"How daring…"

"Don't make fun of me, I'm serious."

"I'm not making fun of you…" at this close distance, they could feel their breaths mixing and softly caressing their faces. "I'm just…having fun seeing you angry."

With that, Francis closed the gap separating them.

Arthur tried to push the Frenchman away but the lips that were claiming his tasted so sweet that he gave in completely and kissed him back with the same passion. Hands started to roam over Francis' back while the Frenchman supported the back of Arthur's head. His other hand was placed on the table to prevent him from losing balance and sending them both crashing together to the floor.

Arthur moaned between kisses and Francis left his lips to raid his cheek and neck. It felt funny, especially with the stubble that tickled every inch of skin that Francis' face brushed against. His head lulled back and his eyes almost closed as Francis worked on a hickey on his neck. Arthur whispered his name and the moist lips trailed back upwards to claim Arthur's.

Damn, it was so wrong... but it felt so good. If his father somehow got wind of him getting so intimate with a guy like this, he'd probably behead him.

But Arthur found he didn't give a damn what his father thought. As long as the man embraced and held him close like this, the world could crash and burn for all he cared. He didn't know what drew him to Francis, for he always hated the French, but it seemed like Francis was an exception to his self-imposed rule.

As he felt the Frenchman's lower lip grazing the gaps on his lips, he bit it hard enough to make it bleed. The Frenchman grunted in displeasure and smeared the blood on Arthur's skin, making it the canvas for his trailing kisses.

Arthur chuckled, thinking the unthinkable. On a moment's whim, he wondered that if they continued to snuggle like this – they might end in the same bed next morning.

"Francis…" he called between pants, his voice low and meek. The Frenchman raised his head to stare into the light green eyes.

Sudden realization of his actions hit him, and he jerked away when he saw the dirty Briton. Trails of red decorated his face and neck while Francis himself didn't notice the blood still dripping from his lips. "I-I'm sorry…"

"No, I…bit you. I'm sorry." Arthur stood and kissed Francis' cheek.

"Are you okay? I mean, for what I did, I…"

"Don't talk about it. It will be our secret. After we walk out of this dining room, everything that has just taken place will be forgotten." Arthur tidied up his clothes, buttoning the shirt that Francis managed to slip down to grant him more access to his neck and shoulder-blade.

Arthur cleaned his face silently before taking the flower in his hands and leaving Francis alone to finish the cleaning. He quickly headed back to his own room and locked it, sighing before slide down to the floor, his back against the door. After making sure that no noises were coming from around him, he buried his flushed face between his hands and groaned, feeling disoriented. _"Damn it, damn him!"_

A story down below, Francis' head felt completely empty. He'd done it once again, just like he did with the rose garden. He'd acted on impulse upon seeing the green-eyed man and those plump, delicious-looking lips of his. Delved so deep in his thoughts, he only became aware of a slipping plate once it smashed loudly on the floor. Panicked, he picked the pieces up carefully, but the sharp porcelain managed to cut his index finger. He yelped in sudden pain, spontaneously putting his index finger inside his mouth. New blood mixed with blood from before, and suddenly he felt sick, barely holding the urge to throw up.

It looked like another cloudy morning when Arthur woke up. The flower stood next to his nightstand innocently, giving the room a nice smell. He stared at the flower while debating how he should act when he met the Frenchman that morning. The heavy make out session last night was…spontaneous... and somehow he felt too guilty to ask Francis to forget them, not when it was hard for him to do the same.

He put his fingers on his lips in thought and buried his head back into his pillow, covering his whole body with the thick blanket. He couldn't do it…No, he couldn't even face the world right now, much less see the Frenchman. He didn't want to talk to anyone, he just wanted to sulk in his room. The whole situation was just _so_ awkward; he was completely terrified that someone might have seen their rather passionate kiss in the dining room. The room hadn't been locked last night, after all.

Arthur never moved from his position for what seemed like an eternity. He only reacted when he heard knocks at the door. From the repetitive knocks, he could tell the person behind the door was his butler, but that still didn't make him crave human contact.

Arthur slowly got off from his bed, still covered in the white blanket and grumpily opened the door. "Yes?"

"You have guests." The butler simply announced.

Arthur's eyebrows knitted together. He hadn't remembered making any appointments today. He'd been planning to do some financial reports from the mine today, but who were these unexpected guests, and how dare they lightly drop by and request an audience with him?

"Who are they?" he asked warily.

Doubt and apprehension flickered on the old butler's face before he opened his mouth determinately. "Mr. Kirkland Sr.; Mrs. Kirkland and…_your wife._"

The grip on Arthur's blanket suddenly tightened tenfold, his hardened face going as white as the sheets themselves, and he swallowed to soothe his suddenly parched throat. The sweet fragrance of the lily of the valley on his night table seemed to choke him now, the previously pleasant smell seeming alluring and ominous now. He took a deep breath, calmed himself and bit his lips before the smooth words slid out of his mouth with trained ease. "… Tell them I'll be downstairs in a few minutes."

**~to be continued~**

* * *

I wrote this at 2 AM and half asleep, I almost making the snogging on the chair into smexing on the floor orz. I know it's short but you all can start to wonder about Francis, ne?

And I don't even know why I include the wife here while I don't have her in my very rough draft; can you suggest what should I make her? Dnfsgnhg. **  
**

**Translations:**

(French)

_Ne t'inquiète pas_: Do not worry (informal)

_Mon cher_ : My dear

(Dutch)

_Meneer:_ Mister


	7. The Faces of a Wife

hello~ thank you for sticking with me hahaha and sorry for long wait, something distracts me XD. And as usual my love goes to **Legend of Zelda 4 life **who kind enough to edit and fix my grammars ;3; and dear maybe you don't want to try the pink scones...I never try it myself nor the other type of scones, just because when I see the scones ingredients, I thought it's possible lol

**Flamemoon**: I hope my justification to her meets your expectation :DDD

**The. Awesome. Yoghurt. Addict**: AHGBHDBGDG I want to make it like that too but it's too fast lololol

**Dee Elle**: I hope you enjoy this installment :D

**Meaningless Name**: hahaha usually I think about the ending first then proceed on how to start and fill the middle lol *shot*

**Eternally1Yours**: for the evil Francis...let see later, ne :D

**EvilWerewolfPirate**: no problem~

**Wasabi-sama**: ghdlghth thank youuu ;3; we have the same liking/soft spot for those thing hahaha...I hope you like this chapter ;)

**Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat** & **xXIceXxShatteredXx**: I hope you like this installment

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Faces of a Wife**

He felt lethargic when he woke up, his head aching and his chest heavy. He didn't want to get up from the bed, but knocks on the door forced him to start his day. The familiar face of the butler popped in, and Francis was immediately given the order to make some pastries as tea snacks. The younger man wanted to ask him about the pastry chef but realized that he was an employee here and under the butler's command.

Instead, he nodded and freshened up in time to make it to the kitchen.

When he got to the kitchen, it was clear everybody was busy. They tried so hard to work things out smoothly that you'd think it were the master's company birthday once again. He grabbed the arm of a maid and asked her to tell him what had caused the hectic situation.

"Master's parents and his wife came." The simple, short response from her sounded life enlightening to him.

He nibbled his lower lip, the sting from the bite wound still present and so did the red bluish color on the right side of his lips. Everyone that saw him stared, as if asking what happened to his lips.

And him being, well, him, he shrugged it off by saying 'I was kissed by a horny ghost' before walking towards the stressed pastry chef who was starting to yell and order people around.

"Is there something I can do?" Francis asked amiably.

"Please make some cookies for the addition to serve; I'm handling the cake here." Came the immediate command.

Francis nodded and walked away, taking his own space and thinking. His eyes wandered to the backyard which could be seen from the open kitchen door, the darkened sky and occasional thunder giving signs that it would be raining soon.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. Maybe serving the kind of cookie he had in mind was off season, but it was the only thing he could think of at the current time.

So he pulled out red sugar, flour, baking soda and the essential ingredients. Just when he was about to took bowl to mix them, the patisseries chef yelled, "Who prepared the scones?"

Francis rolled his eyes. Does that thing always have to be present as a snack during English tea time? He couldn't understand the reason why, but none of the kitchen staffs answered. The chef started to get more aggressive with his yelling – if that was even possible.

"I don't want to know! Master loves scones, prepare them immediately!"

Well he didn't know how to do that.

Besides, which master he was talking about? Arthur or the old Kirkland? If he had known that Arthur loved those things, he would have made them for him, yes, plenty of them... Francis shook his head upon realizing his own thought and concentrated on smashing the ginger with the knife.

"HEY Bonnefoy!" he suddenly jumped when the chef called his name and managed to get a cut from the sharp side of the knife.

"You scared me," he sucked on his left pinky and turned, "what now?"

"You-make-scones." Came the growled reply.

"No, I don't want to…" he walked to the basin to wash his hand and wiped them dry. Thankfully, the blood flow had already stopped. "That's just a boring cake or biscuit, or whatever you called it." He trashed the napkin to the basin, letting the cloth absorb the water inside.

"I don't want to hear your reason, just make it; you know where the ingredients are and if you still think it's a boring delicacy, modify it to anything you like as long as it's _good._" he sneered and went to make sure his cake in the oven wasn't burning

Francis tsk-ed and started to make another dough. He felt grateful he hadn't put the baking soda into the previous dough yet or it wouldn't do well. Once again, his brain was forced to think about the mixture that could be added to the scone, to make it more…pleasant to eat.

He absentmindedly bit his thumb, walking here and there to find a good mixture. His eyes suddenly went to the fresh cherries in the corner of the kitchen and he picked them up confidently. He would make cherry scones even though he was absolutely aware that the cherries needed were the dried one.

Still, he couldn't find any and serving scones with plain cream... his French blood just wouldn't let his brain do it.

He put the cherries inside another bowl and randomly crushed them until it was all juice and little clumps of cherry. Francis took the half-made dough and kneaded it with his own hands, adding some flour to make it stick together. The sweet scent of cherries started to fill his lungs and the dough was slowly colored pink.

He swiped a little from his dough and let his taste buds do the rest.

"_Hmm not bad…"_

Then he took the tray in which he placed the scone that had been cut in the right size. He sighed and smiled. With this, at least, he could proceed to the next cookie.

* * *

Arthur walked down the stairs to the living room glumly. It was raining again outside and it fit his mood as he approached the door. He inhaled and checked his appearance, making sure there was nothing to be criticized about by his father. He then reached out and opened the door to find the three talking to each other.

His father was seated in his favorite arm chair, looking stern. His thick moustache moved with each time he spoke and his thick eyebrows almost knitted as one because of the constant frown. That was something that Arthur was concerned about. Would his own eyebrows look like that when he was older?

His mother still looked healthy, thank goodness, because she was his treasure even with a grumpy, do-not-bother-me type of father as a husband. His mom was his oasis in the desert that was his father's strictness.

She was wearing the bonnet she was so fond of while her gloved hands were folded neatly on her lap. She smiled to her daughter in law with her reassuring smile that somehow irked Arthur so much.

And then, near his mother, his charming wife was the one who noticed him first. She wore a soft blue gown and matching hat that somehow made her eye color pop out. Arthur almost choked at their depth. Damn those eyes.

"Hello there, Arthur." She greeted with a wide smile.

Arthur straightened his chin, ignored her greeting and walked towards his father who already stood up. Both of them shook hands, looking awfully cold and distant.

Arthur then moved to his mother and kissed the back of her hand. He turned to his supposed-to-be ex-wife and greeted her with the same manner as he did to his mother just a moment ago. Even though she was not significant to his life any more, his gentleman side said that she was still a woman and must be treated kindly.

After his greetings, he simply asked them to sit again.

"What a pleasure. Vash just warned me the other day and you suddenly dropped in." He put a sour expression on his face, just to irk them.

"We decided to talk to you about your divorce." His father stated his opinion. "We don't want you to separate Alfred from his mother."

Arthur chuckled, but it eventually escalated into a laughing fit. His parents and his wife looked at each other, wondering if Arthur had eaten something funny or smoked something suspicious in the last 24 hours.

"Funny you mention things like that! Now if that wench didn't have started her adventures and hadn't spread her legs to some shady guys, this wouldn't have happened!"

"Arthur, watch your mouth!" His mom warned him.

"No, mother, this is my fault… but I did that because I lacked love from him…" She looked briefly to Arthur before continuing. "I'm not mad because he threw me out, but all I want is for him to let me see my boy."

"She's not your boy after you walked out that night." Arthur threw a knife-sharp stare at his wife.

"But I'm the one who gave birth of him."

Arthur was about to give his conversation partner a mean rebuttal but his father cut him. "I don't want to hear about this crap anymore. 3 years should be enough to reflect on your mistakes…" he sternly looked at his son and his daughter in law with his green eyes. "I want you to stay here and mend your relationship with Arthur."

Arthur actually had to keep himself from jumping out of his chair in rage. "What is this bullshit?" he growled, getting up calmly- at least seeming to be on the outside.

"No, this is not bullshit son, take my word. Get back together and everything will be alright."

"_Alright_? What do you mean by _alright_? Since you came and brought her back here, there were nothing but mistakes made! I don't want to mend this broken relationship or even try to do so! Do you understand my logic, father?"

"I don't care. Divorce is something that would humiliate our family. None of your ancestors separated during their marriage…this is because they believed and walked in God's set path…"

"Cut that crap about religion. Fine if you based the non-divorcing statement on religion, but this woman-" he pointed his wife. "-had already broken _God's sacred law_ against adultery in marriage. Now, does this marriage still have to be defended?"

His father was immediately silenced by those words. He hadn't thought that his son would be able to pick his words up and turn them back against him. His green eyes were still staring at the tall, lean figure of the man in front of him, standing straight and strong. He'd inherited that posture from his mother for sure.

And slowly, he found himself thinking of the best way to make his son swallow his own words.

The patisserie chef put his best doomed face when he saw Francis' cookies. Nonetheless, he immediately told him to deliver the cookies along with his perfectly shaped fruits cakes to the living room – the place where the Kirkland family was gathered. He just nodded and pushed the same trolley that he had used the night before to carry the desserts.

He knocked the door and the butler opened the door, letting him in. Francis scanned the room to find tense and heavy air inside the room. His instinct screamed at him to leave immediately after he delivered the tea and snacks.

Arthur slightly twitched upon his arrival and corrected his position when he put the china in front of him; they (Arthur) tried to not making eye contact while he was here. Very obviously, his master was still thinking about last night's _accident_.

Francis tried to act as natural as he could. Slowly, he continued to set the china on the table and glanced at the old Kirkland.

Francis noticed the similarities between their green eyes, bushy eyebrows and slightly bumpy nose that had been passed onto his son. It wouldn't easily have been noticed, unless someone practically stared at them, but Francis had the eagle vision for just these kinds of things.

Besides, he'd traced Arthur's face before. The small bump on his nose was a mark that let him recognize him immediately, along with the deep valley between his eyes.

He moved near the wife of the old Kirkland and continued his assessment. She was lean and had the same hair color as his son, even though grey hair had started to claim some portions of her aging head. This woman was aging gracefully and that was exactly what was expected of all the British upper-class women. They were raised to be elegant.

And the last one was the wife. She gave him her polite smile and thanked him after Francis put his tea in front of her. Arthur was right, she was very pretty and seemed like she had good manners too.

Too bad she cheated on him.

"What's this?" Arthur asked suspiciously when Francis put the snacks on the table.

"Fruit cakes?"

"No, no, this…ginger bread and are these…pink scones?"

Arthur's scowl and confused voice picked the family's attention, prompting them to examine the delicacies. Arthur's father scoffed and muttered "It's not even Christmas" and "Frenchie" but Francis just smiled.

"It's raining outside." He noted idly.

The Kirkland stared at him, "So?"

"I thought it would be good if I served something to warm your throats and bodies besides the tea? Ginger is the best choice when you want to apply it to snacks like this." They seemed to accept his reasoning and Francis took this as his cue to explain the pink scones, "There are no dried cherries or anything of the sort to make the scones taste better…" the family gasped simultaneously – no one had ever dared to insult scones before! "…I didn't want to serve them only with cream, so I decided to mix some fresh cherries in the dough. Please try them."

They all had doubt plastered over their faces, but took a bite anyway. The old Kirkland was the first to react as he nodded in approval. "Very good."

"_Merci, Monsieur_." Francis smiled and bowed.

He then retreated but before he could walk out of the room, the butler slung an arm in front of his path to prevent him from doing so.

Puzzled, he chose to stand between the butler and a tall indoor plant near the door. Who knew, maybe they would need him again. He eyed the old man questioningly, who simply looked back at him with soft smile.

"Watch. This is what your master's family is like." He whispered.

Not long after the butler said that, the young Kirkland's voice rose. He almost slammed the tea set near him on the table. "Mr. Kirkland Sr. wants the master's wife to stay here again." the butler suddenly whispered. "He wanted them to make up and start over on better terms…"

"…isn't that good? Ar-Master seems to adore his wife so much, after all." Francis licked his suddenly-gone-dry lips, ignoring the cottony feeling in his throat.

"Yes, but I guess everything's changing now – after she left and you came here." He smiled faintly.

"Me?" Francis gulped nervously.

"Yes, why not? He has become more lively lately. I still remembered the times where he would always lock himself inside his office for days and days on end, but it seems he prefers your chamber to sleep in now."

Francis coughed at the statement and he bit his lower lip. It still gave him a sting from their passionate kiss last night. "He had just fallen asleep there…" he tried to retaliate fruitlessly.

The butler let out soft chuckles that were soon covered by the sound of scattering porcelain. It seemed as though Arthur couldn't hold his anger anymore. The ladies yelped and the old Kirkland's green eyes widened in disbelief. He'd never fathomed his reserved son could be driven by anger.

"Hold him." the butler hurriedly commanded.

Instinctively, Francis hurried over and swung his arms around Arthur's middle before said man could flip the mahogany table and leap forward to hurt everyone. "What part of 'I don't want' you can't understand, father? I do not fucking care and you should've know that the 3 years after she left were my best times…EVER!"

"Arthur, Arthur calm down!"

"Let go of me, Frog! Maybe I should smack some sense into these people!"

"NO, listen to me…" he whispered. "They are your family…you can't do that to your own flesh and blood. What if- What if one day they're gone…someone's dead for example. What if one day, you are alone and miss them…what would you do?"

Arthur didn't immediately reply and gradually calmed down. His voice soothed him as this time, he'd been the one who'd acted out of turn.

Francis was right, what if he lost them all? Was that what he wanted?

He turned his head slowly to find the pale man smiling – a sad smile- and it struck Arthur that Francis had already lost his wife once. He couldn't even remember what she looked like. Arthur opened his mouth as Francis loosened his grip on his waist. "I-I'm sorry…"

"I'm not the right person to target with your apology," he held Arthur's shoulder and turned him back to his family, "they are."

He gulped and casted his view on the Persian carpet on the floor, embarrassed and nervous. "I'm sorry…I'm acting childish…If- If you want her to stay here, I-I-I don't really mind."

Sensing the change of atmosphere, old Kirkland smiled and cleared his throat in elation. "Very good…now I should not worried about you two, right?" then he laughed.

Arthur bit his inner cheeks, holding his mouth shut so it wouldn't throw another verbal dagger that would break the currently light situation. He sighed and slumped to the arm chair that had been his support while debating with his father. Arthur then hid his face in his palms, feeling unsure of what lies laid ahead him if his ex-wife returned. Part of him was afraid he would forgive her and fall in love with her again...

No. If that happened, he wouldn't forgive himself. What would have been the use of stoning his heart for the past 3 years, then?

This shouldn't have happened.

Chains of coughs drew him back to reality. He watched the slowly retreating back of the Frenchman carefully. He was obviously covering his mouth in order to muffle his coughs and reached the door knob right before Arthur's father called him back. "Hey you, could you bring my grandson here? I've missed him."

Arthur was just about to open his mouth but Francis smiled and nodded weakly.

"Sure, I'll go and fetch him" he then disappeared behind the door. His body had disappeared from sight, but the faint sound of coughs could still be heard, at least inside Arthur's ears.

The butler came back with a maid to clean the mess. He also brought a new trolley of tea and snacks. Arthur eyed him, searching for some random answer to questions that hadn't formed in his brain yet, but the old butler only smiled and poured the newly made tea into their teacups.

"Please prepare a room for her." Arthur instructed the butler after a series of sighs.

The butler bowed and prepare to leave but old Kirkland stopped him again. "Blasphemy, how do you want to re-conciliate if both of you sleep in separate room?"

Arthur tightened his clenched fist again but decided to count from one to ten while inhaling and exhaling all his anger through his respiratory system. "Fine, but I don't want to have anything to do with her."

"You'll never know, son. You'll never know." His father sneered. _Damn old man._

* * *

"What? Grandpa is coming?" Alfred asked curiously from behind his coloring book when Francis went upstairs to inform him. Miss Emma – the teacher – smiled gently to the young Kirkland.

"Isn't that good Alfred?" she brushed her soft hand over Alfred's head.

"It is not, Miss Emma. I don't like grandpa, he's worse than father in term of scowling, he's almost never smiled in his entire life and he's even stricter than father." He pouted and continued whipping the colors on the paper.

"He's not alone Alfred." Francis put his weight on the bed post, his head spinning for unknown reasons. He cussed inside his head, blaming the medicinal concoction he forgot to drink last night. "He was... with your grandma... and also with your mother."

Alfred tensed. "Mother too?"

"Yes, you don't want to see her?"

"I-what about father? Is he okay about that?"

Francis wanted to explain everything so desperately... But maybe a little lie won't hurt the little one. He stepped forward and trashed Alfred's hair with his hands, grinning as widely as he could.

"Yes, why not? She said she'll live in this house again, aren't you glad?" Alfred was about to answer but Francis cut him to the chase before he could retort again. "Go meet her downstairs, Mathieu and I will follow you…" he then turned to Miss Emma. "I'm sorry for cutting the lesson but his grandpa is very demanding."

"It's okay…well maybe I should leave, I need to shop for some things before my fiancée comes to visit, anyways." She chuckled.

Francis nodded and led Mathieu outside the room by the hand. The little one's eyes stared at his papa who covered his mouth with his hand as his body slightly rocked with a series of coughs. He demandingly grabbed Francis' clothes and called him, making the older man direct his full attention to his son.

"Did you forget to drink your medicine?"

Francis smiled although he couldn't answer lest the coughs attacked his throat again. He instead took Mathieu, whose eyes were brimming with unshed tears, to the living room, where Alfred was already crying in his mother's bosom.

Francis took a look to his little child again and he could sense the jealousy rippling off of him. The term _mother_ was something quite unfamiliar to Mathieu, whose mother had died while he was still too young to remember. His father was the center of his world and he didn't know what he would do if he disappeared too one day.

That's why he was very concerned about his sick father.

"Oh, who's the little one?" The soft voice of a woman made Mathieu turn his head from his father to the owner of the voice.

"He's Matthew, mother…he's my friend!"

"Oh, Alfred's friend…come here son, why don't you introduce yourself?"

Mathieu looked at his father, seeking for approval. Francis smiled and nodded.

Mathieu approached Alfred's mother carefully after recognizing the distasteful expression on his grandpa's face. Alfred took his hand gently and Mathieu bowed. "My name's Mathieu, _Madame_" then he bowed to Alfred's grandma and grandpa.

"Ah, what a cute boy…" she brushed her hand through his hair, _"Aimerais-tu accompagner Alfred pendant qu'il ammène son grand-papa et sa grand-maman jouer dans la chambre adjacente?"_

Mathieu smiled and whispered to Alfred to take his grandpa and grandma out of the room. Alfred nodded and dragged both of his grand-parents out of the room. Arthur tsk-ed, half relieved, half annoyed that his wife managed to use her charm on the children.

After the children and the old people disappeared, he scoffed. "Surprise, surprise, I didn't know you could speak French. I guess the stableman was not only teaching you how to act in bed but also how to speak his language."

The Madame chuckled, "Oh- still sharp as always, Arthur? Of course he taught me many things in bed, it's called pillow talk." she sipped his tea in calm.

Arthur blinked as he clearly didn't recognize the lady in front of her. The wife he knew was soft, and her words were sweet, just like what he had displayed before everyone retreated to another part of the house. This woman before him, who dared to debate with him, couldn't have been his wife. He must be dreaming.

"Who are you?" he asked, deep frown plainly painted on his face.

"Me? I'm your wife…don't tell me you have brain damage or something like that…" she took something out from her purse: a flat box, covered in red velvet. She opened it and produced a cigarette from the inside of it. She desperately looked around for fire but finding none, she gave up, placing her cigarette back into its box. "Surprise question…how many years were we married?"

"Almost 10 years."

"Right, now do you know me since we've been together throughout all those years?"

"…well, I guess."

She laughed, "_Well, I guess_? Mister was too focused on his job and gave me no time to expose my true self in front of him." She scoffed and crossed her arms. "You always saw me from one side, a caring and loving wife…there were times I wanted to be egotistical too, you know…but the stableman saw my other side and gave me the freedom I wanted. Besides, he was more…spontaneous. And how should I put this...? _Wild._"

"You disgrace, you don't have any right to say things about your man-toy here, inside my house!" Arthur yelled, absolutely livid.

"Are you jealous?"

"NO! I'm disgusted!"

"Fine…" She smirked, her eyes diverted to a shocked Francis who still stood in silence during their fight. "Are you French?"

"Eh- yes, yes I am, _Madame._"

"I see…" she looked back at Arthur with a gaze he couldn't read. "Well, I'm tired…Mr. Butler, please help me to _Arthur's and my_ bedroom…"

"Yes, Madam…" the old butler bowed before escorting her out of the room.

Arthur slumped deeper into his chair, ruffling his own hair in frustration. Francis threw a sympathetic look at him and silently poured him some tea, putting in some cream.

"Drink it, it'll calm you." He kneeled in front of the sitting Arthur and shoved the tea cup into his hands.

"I feel foolish. I can't even stand for my own opinion… Father always wins." At that particular moment, Francis noticed how tired he really looked as he slowly he sipped his tea.

"I can't help much about it, I'm sorry…"

"No, it's not your fault…it's just my weakness…"

"I think you need to lie down."

"With her in my room? I believe not!" he scoffed.

"Maybe it isn't that bad…" Francis smiled so charmingly, Arthur almost snapped. "If both of you stay silent and show each other your backs while sleeping..."

Arthur contemplated his meager options before sighing in defeat. "Maybe you're right."

"Good. Now come, let me escort you, _mon prince_…" Francis stood and offered his hand, waiting for Arthur to respond.

Arthur pouted and frowned lightly at the Frenchman's words.

"Cut that crap, or I'll kill you." but he contradicted his words by putting his palm inside Francis', letting him help to stand from his chair.

Francis chuckled amusedly, not threatened in the least. "Fine…fine…you can do anything to me, you are my master after all." He chuckled before silence fell between them.

They walked side by side, climbing the staircase slowly. Arthur finally glanced at the Frenchman, deciding to break the silence.

"Are you okay? I don't think your coughs earlier could have been considered normal."

"Oh, absolutely…I forgot to drink my concoction last night, it was my own fault."

Arthur's line of view then almost instinctively dropped to Francis' lips. The bluish tint still painted his lips, and he moved his gaze immediately in guilt and embarrassment. "…and I'm sorry about that…um…your lips..."

"About?"

"Ugh, your lips, last night I-" Francis suddenly put his index finger in front of Arthur's lips, cutting him off.

"Didn't you say to me before that I should forget everything that happened last night in the dining room? You can't break your own order_, mon ange_…"

"Well that's…yes…" Arthur sighed, defeated.

"We've arrived. I hope you have a nice rest…" Francis stole a kiss from his forehead before retreating in silence, leaving a dumbfounded Arthur in front of his own room's door.

* * *

He finally pushed the doorknob after snapping out of his daze, only to find his wife starting to undress. Both of them yelped, but after registering and recognizing each other, they began to breathe free.

"Arthur, could you please pull my corset string?"

Arthur rolled his eyes but did as she asked. He found no uneasiness from his wife when the corset fell from her plump chest. He didn't even find her body tempting anymore. His perseverance made a barrier for his desire. Watching his wife changing into night gown, he started to undo his own clothes until all that was left was a white shirt.

His wife's hand suddenly raked to his shirt's collar, removing the fabric from his upper skin. "Are those hickeys I see?"

Arthur swatted her hands in anger and discomfort. "None of your business!"

She only chuckled at his rudeness. "So it's true after all. I thought my eyes were deceiving me when I see caught a glimpse of one near your throat…I never knew that you let _this person_ give you those. You always told me to not give you marks when we had sex."

"Shut up, I don't want to argue with you anymore, I'm tired." he slipped to his night clothes.

"So do I…but I'm curious about _this person _who gave you…_three_ hickeys…" She walked to the right side of bed, her side of the territory, and was stunned to see a pot with a lily of the valley on that side's counter. "And surprise, who knew you were fond of flowers now…what a pretty flower this is."

"Don't touch that!" Arthur's wife's hand stopped in midair while Arthur himself stomped over to save the flower and whisk it to his side of the bed.

She smiled softly, "_This person_ is special, right?"

"Huh?"

She slipped under the blankets and Arthur followed suit. "Nothing dear…I'm just a little jealous." she smirked.

Arthur raised one of his massive eyebrows and turned around. "Shut up and go to sleep, Rose."

She only chuckled.

* * *

"Alright, convey our farewells to my son and his wife." The fat man climbed inside the carriage before the coachman closed the door.

The butler and Mathieu bowed while Alfred waved his hands to bid the two old people goodbye as the carriage moved away. He felt happy, thinking this to be the best visit from his grandparents yet. They had actually laughed and grown fond of Matthew too, even though at first they underestimated him just because he was a servant's son. Something about class that Alfred couldn't understand. Why did they have to like people based on class things?

"Both of you, let's go back inside…it looks like it'll almost start raining again." the butler smiled kindly. "I guess we still have gingerbread…would you like to eat them with hot milk?"

Alfred's eyes sparkled in joy at that, and he nodded frantically. "Yes, yes, yes, I love them! Come Matthew!"

"Um…I want to see my father first…he wasn't looking too good." The shy child muttered, blushing.

Alfred stared at his curly-haired friend's face and beamed with a wide smile. "Alright, I'll accompany you there." he turned to the butler. "And I want honey in my milk too!" the butler nodded and watched as the two little boys ran inside.

"So…" Alfred said while holding Mathieu's hand. "What's wrong with your dad?"

Mathieu held his bear plush tighter, his tiny brows furrowed in thought. "He said it's the flu…but I don't believe him…"

"Why is that?"

"His body had been too warm lately. I know the people with influenza also have those symptoms, but I'm afraid of his coughs. Whenever I hear them, it sounds like Papa's lungs or guts will come flying out of his mouth."

Alfred sensed his friend's uneasiness easily and squeezed his hand tighter. "It's okay, it's the flu alright."

"Eh?"

"Trust your father. I'm sure that if it's not the flu he's got, he'll tell you…"

"You think so?" Matthew asked, looking up at Alfred with big, round, curious eyes.

"Yes, why not? He's your father. He loves you, so why would he lie?" Alfred shrugged.

"I-I guess you're right…"

Alfred was happy that his friend was smiling again, up until they realized they'd arrived outside Francis' room's door. He knocked on it, a grunt from inside proof of the older man's presence before the door was flung open by a very messy haired Francis, staring at the two children with weary eyes.

"Papa, are you all right?"

"Yes, I- ah…having a nap because Arthur is…resting too so…I guess I'm not needed, even though I will water the garden later, but…"

"Did we bother you?" Asked Alfred, cutting through Francis' rambling.

"No, not at all, do you want to come in?" Francis offered with a weak smile.

They nodded and Francis stepped aside. Mathieu invaded his Papa's bed as soon as he saw it, jumping up and burrowing himself in the blankets. "I missed sleeping with you."

Francis stopped to drag a stool for Alfred and stared at his only son. "Well now, you shouldn't say that…Alfred will be sad."

"But…"

"It's okay, Francis. I want to sleep with my father too sometimes, but I'm not a little boy anymore so sleeping alone is okay with me." Alfred grinned proudly.

"Good boy…" Francis smiled and ruffled Alfred's hair. He pouted and protested that he wasn't a boy anymore, words that passed through one of the Frenchman's ears and out the other. "So... What made you come here all of sudden?" he asked curiously.

"I came to make sure…" Mathieu's voice rang out, determined. "That you drank your medicine."

"I will, _mon petit_, later at night." Francis assured him idly.

"And then you will forget again!" he almost screamed but his frustration changed into tears and sobs. Francis fell into silence and Alfred's eyes widened. They knew by default that Mathieu would never have acted like that. "…and your sickness will get worse. _S'il-vous-plaît, faites-le pour moi, papa._"

Francis squatted in front of his boy, smiling wearily. "Fine, I'll drink it up in front of you…but I need to boil these things first, it's alright _non_?" Mathieu nodded and Francis turned to dig for his things inside his closet. He took the paper bag out and headed from the room to the kitchen.

The kitchen was empty. It seemed like everyone had followed their master's example to take a rest somewhere.

He poured the roots on the table, and noted with dull annoyance that he was short in stock and needed to buy another batch. He sighed and covered his eyes with his palm, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The annoying sickness refused to go away and it was starting to burden him. Francis lit the stove with a match, the redness of fire flickering inside his eyes.

Something suddenly struck his mind, something that he was sure he didn't have inside his memories.

_Blazing red, hot and burning, he laid on the dirt and then everything went blank and dark. He awoke to a quite wide room; he didn't know whose room it was, but it was so white and so bright that he instantly decided he didn't like it. Unfamiliar faces came and went, talked to themselves or sometimes, when they wanted to, they tried to talk to him. He would answer if he was in the mood, but mostly not since he loved to keep his mouth shut and leave them in a frustrated situation._

_They got bored and discussed things again, saying that they would have to use the medications again. He couldn't remember what is was but they always injected something through his right hand veins. He bucked as it coursed through him. It hurt. It hurts so much that he screamed and found himself stabbed with another dose of medication…_

He snapped out of his trance and his body automatically jerked back and slammed some pan. He felt nauseous and cold sweat trickled all over his body. He frantically inhaled to prevent the sickening coughs that invaded his breathing from coming alive .

He then broke into a run, almost crying for unknown reasons, straining to inhale the fresh air of the backyard and trampling in green vines he didn't notice. Luckily, he didn't fall or Mathieu would question his dirty clothes. Francis stared at the darkening sky, the mixture of clouds and the moon's rising rays announcing the falling night. He was confused. _What the hell was that?_

With paranoia creeping on his back like a scary spider, he rolled his sleeves up to find some very faint dots on his pale arms that he always questioned himself about. _God what is this...?_

He only walked back inside once his heart calmed down. He put all the unused roots back into the paper bag and extinguished the fire, forgetting completely about making the concoction. His brain was too full of things unfamiliar to him.

Mathieu popped his head out when he saw his father coming back and immediately asked him whether he drank the medicine yet or not. Francis easily lied by saying he already chugged it down at the kitchen because he didn't want Mathieu to see his contorted face while drinking the bitter liquid.

Mathieu laughed and Alfred smiled. Francis took this as a good sign and asked them to go back to their room because he wanted to take a rest. They were very sweet about it and nodded immediately at his request. Mathieu gave him a kiss on the cheek and said _see you later _before he turned his back and left.

* * *

Arthur woke up feeling much better. What he saw first thing in the morning was the lily of the valley, so he inhaled and buried his head back in the plump feather pillow. It was very tranquil... until he felt his shoulder being shaken and he realized he wasn't alone in his room.

He jumped immediately and spilled out incoherent cusses. His wife – Rose – raised one of her eyebrows and pointed to the door. "There's someone knocking, and I haven't properly dressed up yet…"

"Fine!" He stomped over and opened the door to find his butler. "Is there something wrong?"

"Dinner time, Master…"

"Oh…okay I'll go downstairs in a moment."

"And…" the butler stopped nervously. Arthur blinked as the butler bowed his body slightly and whispered. "I can't find your favorite servant…"

Arthur jerked and almost trampled on his own feet. "Wh-why…he's not…" but his butler only smiled. "…is that the only information you have to tell me?" Arthur braced himself.

The butler nodded and he excused himself. Arthur walked to his closet and pulled a shirt, a waist coat and trousers. He stood in front of the mirror and tied the necktie until it formed a perfect 'wing' on each side. His wife eyed him and smiled, "You're getting good at that."

He scoffed. "I _am_ good at everything…get dressed please, dinner's ready."

His wife moved to her own closet and started to rummage through her dresses. "What took you so long to talk to the butler?"

He stared at his wife, "None of your business, I'll go downstairs first."

"Fine, but can you help me pull this corset's strings? Ah for God's sake, I've been lame in doing this thing since I was little…"

Arthur rolled his eyes but helped her nonetheless.

Dinner finished faster than he thought it would be. Alfred had behaved well because his mom was present and Mathieu only ate a little. When he asked him, the little one only shook his head and Arthur didn't push the question further. Rose held the children's hands in both of her delicate hands and led them to their room to read them a bedtime story. Before leaving, though, she gave him her meaningful smile and disappeared.

"_What's wrong with her anyway?"_

He was alone in the dining room once again. He stared at the empty porcelain plate and found himself tumbling over the thought of his butler. He contemplated trying to search for Francis, but if the butler found out, he would feel embarrassed...

_Ah screw him_.

He stood up and started his search by walking into the garden to find no one but fireflies dancing near the pond. Night dew was shining under the moonlight. It seemed like the rain had decided to drench another area and had left his garden slightly wet because of the previous evening's rain.

He continued and went inside via the back kitchen door. His staff workers were having dinner and they straightened up when they saw their master. Arthur simply waved his hand, asking them to ignore him as he walked through the kitchen.

He soon found himself in the last place he wanted to be, but in the place he intended to search in for Francis first. Where else could the man have been if not in his own room? Arthur had known this from the beginning, but had been delaying so that he could figure out what to say.

Too late to stop now, though.

He knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again.

Still no answer.

He frowned in dissatisfaction at his instincts being faulty and reached for the knob, pushing it gently. His eyes widened when he found the room wasn't locked. His gaze swept the room from the small crack in the doorway, but he could only make out that it was dark inside.

Maybe Francis really wasn't here... Nonetheless, he opened the door wider and stepped inside. He let the light from the hall provide for him as he strived to find the candle.

His hands fumbled in the darkness and found the long, oily stick before long, a match lying near it. He lit the room up and closed the door before he got back to facing the bed.

A big cocoon made of sheets and blankets laid unmoving on the bed. Arthur scooted and muttered 'sleepy head' as he approached said cocoon. He pulled the fabric down and let out a series of evil laughs, although they quickly died down when the Frenchman didn't even respond to him.

He laid on his side in the center of the bed like a dead man. He was so pale, you could actually mistake him for a corpse, but Arthur sighed in relief when he cautiously examined the ups and downs of his shoulder – he was still breathing.

Meticulously, he pushed the hair that was covering half of his face away before putting his palm on his forehead. He was warm, too warm and sweating. He called Francis' name and slightly panicked as at first, the man didn't respond. But as he brushed his knuckle over his face, he stirred and opened his eyes slowly.

Everything was hazy and his head was heavy but he recognized the presence of a man seated on the corner of his bed – only that person would dare to come in without permission, just because his own justification was that he was the owner of the house.

"A-Arthur?" His voice was raw and it hurt when he tried to talk.

"Who said you could lay down here and do nothing?" Arthur put his sour face on, but was relieved when he heard his voice.

"I-I'm sorry, I…" Francis tried to sit up, but Arthur covered his forehead with his palm and gently pushed him back into his pillow.

"I forgive you, now get rest…I'll get you some cold water and something to eat, I bet you haven't eaten yet."

"Y-yes but…"

Arthur's eyes softened, and he got up, going for the door. "Just stay there…" he turned and closed the door.

He asked the staff in the kitchen whether they have leftover or not. Today's dinner was chicken soup and ham - simple cooking, but loved by everyone. Those were enough for Arthur, who ordered a plate of leftovers.

When the maid asked him where he wanted the food to be, he said immediately that he would bring it himself because his wife didn't like to be bothered when she was sick. He also didn't forget to ask for cold water in a basin and dry towels.

The trolley was filled with a glass of warm water, a plate of boiling soup, a small plate of ham and cheese and also some slices of bread on the top row while the basin and dry towels were placed below. Arthur hurriedly went back to Francis' room and found that the blond already closed his eyes again.

"Hey, wake up, I brought you food."

Francis stirred and blinked, trying to clear the spots from his eyes. "I'm not hungry..." his voice still felt hoarse.

"Don't act like a little boy! Eat the food and heal up, I'm not paying you to sleep." The Brit crossed his arms.

"Yes...master, I under...stand..." He smiled sheepishly as he answered to Arthur's command.

Arthur watched him struggle to sit up and it was proven to be very hard for him. Arthur's limbs automatically responded by supporting him, so Francis' back now leaned against the cold wall. He turned his head and faced Arthur, whispering a thank you in his mother language.

Arthur took the tray to become support for the plate as Francis ate. He handed him the spoon and placed the plate in front of him. He stared and his face tensed, Francis chuckling morbidly as his trembling hand spilled the soup everywhere but in his mouth. It frustrated Arthur to the point where he decided to snatch the spoon from Francis.

"You owe me so much..." He muttered while blowing on the soup in the spoon so that Francis could swallow.

"Yes, yes...like I said...you can do anything to me..." He opened his mouth when Arthur shoved the spoon inside his mouth with a loud 'humph'. "I've handed my body and soul to you..." He continued half jokingly.

"Save that for your French girlfriend." Arthur had started to get used to his words, so that kind of pick up line wouldn't get him.

Francis pouted, "You're not _cute._"

"And I don't consider myself as _cute_ either. Do you tend to be ten times more annoying than usual when you're sick?" He shoved another spoon into Francis' mouth.

He swallowed with effort, and grimaced. "Probably. Enough, Arthur, I'm full."

"Are you kidding me?" The new spoonful of soup stood hanging mid air. "You only ate two spoonfuls of this soup!"

Francis covered his mouth, his other free hand holding Arthur's, which held the spoon. His brows knitted and eyes closed as the severe coughs came again. Arthur could only watch as Francis fought by himself.

He felt so useless. Instinct led his hand to drop the spoon and instead moved them to soothe Francis' back. They only left his back for a while when he grabbed the glass of warm water to hand it to Francis.

After drinking the water, he calmed down completely. Arthur ordered him to lie back onto his mattress and Francis complied willingly. As Arthur cleared the bed from the plate, tray and spoon, Francis grabbed his lower arm.

"I...had a weird vision..."

"I don't want to hear it if it's about the angels or God."

"No, no, it was quite scary actually."

"Okay you got my attention." Arthur sat beside the sick man.

"...the fire, a room and people who stabbed me with syringes...I didn't like it, it hurt..."

"Was that your dream?"

"_Non_, _non_...It felt like I was awake, actually..." He rolled his eyes, and Arthur stared at his tired face and his golden wavy hair splayed like a halo on his pillow. "...I never have been in that room, nor met those people, but I have these..." He rolled his sleeve up.

"They're like...needle mark." Arthur examined the small dots curiously.

"Exactly...after that, I just felt sick." Francis' brows twitched. "I just...don't know..."

Arthur brushed his palm to Francis' damp forehead. "Shh everything will be all right, just heal now, don't stress out...you can find the answer later..."

Their eyes met, and Francis smiled with gratitude, starting to drift away into slumber. He noticed, though, that he was still holding one of Arthur's hands - their fingers entwined now and Arthur's thumb making lazy circle on his knuckles. It felt good and soothing.

"_Bonne Nuit_...Arthur..."

"Yes, good night to you too."

As Francis closed his eyes, Arthur leaned towards and kissed his forehead, letting his eyes drift to their connected hands.

_"Shit... Now how can I get out of here?"_

* * *

When the morning came, Rose woke up to find that her husband hadn't come back to their room. The dining table was where she'd seen him last.

In the end, she decided to go outside in search of his whereabouts. She dressed up with the sky blue dress that accentuated her figure and didn't even bother with the tangled strings of her corset, finding that her husband was her priority, mostly just because she loved to annoy him.

She smiled as she walked by a maid on the way down, and nodded as a greeting.

"How are you feeling today Madam? I hope you getting better." The maid bowed lightly.

"Pardon?" She graciously tilted her head but the smile never faltered from her face.

"Yes, last night, Master asked us to serve one plate of hot soup and some other things too. He said you weren't feeling good and that he would bring you the soup himself."

That's when it clicked, and she immediately guessed where her husband had run off to.

"…of course," She faked a wince. "Thank you for asking me that, I'm perfectly fine now."

Then the maid curtseyed before leaving. The madam of the house now walked to the stairs to go to the servants' and maids' sleeping quarters in hopes of catching him red-handed, but she stopped when Arthur walked to her from his study on the other side of hall.

"Breakfast is still in 30 minutes." He said blandly.

"Oh, good morning to you, too, Arthur. Did you know I was surprised when I didn't find you sleeping next to me this morning? Where have you been?"

"In my study, I need to finish some reports." The Brit blankly replied.

"Were you there all night?"

"Yes."

"Oh, maybe the maid was wrong, then..."

"What is it?"

"She said that you asked for a bowl of hot soup at the kitchen yesterday night, so that you could help poor sick me recover. Although I didn't see any bowls, nor did you wake me up to help me eat the soup. I don't even remember being sick…I wonder…" Her lips curled in satisfied smile as Arthur's eyebrows twitched. "Did you give the soup to _that person_?"

Arthur's eyebrows knitted and he opened his mouth, giving his alibi. "Who's _this person_, Rose? Don't be ridiculous…" Arthur was just about to go downstairs when his wife's hand caught his and she smiled, very gentle. "What?"

"You should escort a lady downstairs, shouldn't you? Let's go together to the dining room and wait for the children." She suggested.

"Tsk, you're annoying!"

"You're welcome, dear." She smiled and slipped her hand into her husband's.

Arthur had no choice but to walk down with her, all the while grumbling.

_**~to be continued~**_

* * *

Any attempt on making the pink scones is not my responsibility =3=

(Beta's Notes: PINK SCONES. Definitely the next pastry I'm trying out 8D)

_Translations:_

(French)

"_Aimerais-tu accompagner Alfred pendant qu'il ammène son grand-papa et sa grand-maman jouer dans la chambre adjacente?"_: Would you like to accompany Alfred while he takes his grandma and grandpa to play in the adjacent room?

"_mon prince_": My prince

"_mon ange":_ My angel

"_S'il-vous-plaît, faites-le pour moi, papa._" : Please, do it for me, father (formal)

"_Bonne nuit": _Good night


	8. The Route 'He' Might Choose

Aaah thank you for all your reviews, alerts, and faves ;3; I'm sorry it took me so long, tumblr is distracting me but don't worry, I'm not losing my muse.

**Orang Gila:** Wah seneng ada orang Indonesia juga yang baca, makasih kritiknya tapi ada beberapa hal yang pengen ane lurusin sedikit hahaha. **1.)** Kenapa Arthur nyerah cepet banget soalnya mau ngomong apa juga, pada akhirnya Rose _musti_ tinggal di sana lagi. Bapaknya amat sangat keras kepala nan maksa *halah* plus sebelumnya ane dah nulis kan soal ortunya Arthur lebih suka/sayang sama Rose daripada sama anaknya sendiri. **2.)** Soal makanan, pastinya dia harus kasih alesan (apalagi sebelumnya dia udah makan), biarpun dia tuan rumah, tapi pelayannya kan bisa gosip dibelakangnya - reputation at stake - dia nggak mau kalo pelayannya nganggep dia rendah. Tambahannya, kalo sampe bocor dia punya afeksi lebih pada pelayang tertentu (laki-laki pula) kayaknya pas abad 19 (setting cerita ini) bakal jadi skandal besar. **3.) **eeh pengurangan gimana maksudnya? ;3;

I hope you all enjoy this installment, I'm sorry it's not that long...and oh I'm totally blind about France region & obviously the farm's name in the end of this story is not related to the real life a.k.a non-existence hahaha.

* * *

**Chapter 8: The Route 'He' Might Choose**

It was infuriating for Arthur. It had already been a week and his wife was still sticking to him like the glue on an envelope's border. He couldn't even read in peace as his wife sat down beside him and started to share stories of when she was back at her family home, baking cake, socializing, partying and on and on. When he told her to shut up, she would snicker and ask him about his life without her, what he did or if he found someone new. Because of her, he couldn't move freely and constantly stayed in the dark about Francis' condition.

Because asking his butler would totally label him as a target for teasing on behalf of the older man – thank you very much, but fuck no.

"Could you please get out of my office? I need to finish my work!" He finally said one day when he spotted his wife sipping her tea while staring at the new embroidery he'd just finished.

"I never knew that you'd started knitting…this is beautiful."

"Don't touch that, you'll ruin it! And don't you dare change the topic; I still need you to leave."

"No fun…" just as she was about to open her mouth, there were knocks on the door. Arthur sighed in relief and thanked whoever was behind that door.

"Come in."

The butler bowed slightly and handed him a white envelope, carved with cursive lean handwriting. _"To Arthur Kirkland",_ it said. He turned and checked the wax seal and recognized it as Vash's.

Arthur took the letter knife and opened its top; slowly pulling out the letter under his wife's gaze. He momentarily frowned, noticing that his wife was acting like he just got a letter from a mistress, but soon turned his attention back to the parchment. He smoothed the paper before reading said letter, then blinked, a smile plastered on his face.

Vash would soon be coming to visit and hand the legal papers over.

"I will have a guest this afternoon…" he said to no particular person and turned his head to his butler. "Make sure _no one_ bothers me when Mr. Zwingli and I discuss business when he arrives."

The butler bowed and his wife just threw him a dirty look. It made Arthur feel well satisfied, though, when she finally stood and turned her heels away from the room. "Fine, keep it secret from me. I can have secrets that you don't know as well."

"Whatever…I don't care about your _secrets_ anymore…or with whom you share your secrets."

She raised an eyebrow before closing the door with grace. Arthur slumped back into his chair immediately, disregarding all sorts of manners even though his butler was standing right there.

"Are you okay, Master?"

"I'm good, I just feel tired after facing her. Why can't I have nice, solitary moments when she's around?"

"Maybe she just wants you to notice her; she wants to be with you again, after all."

Arthur scoffed and played with the ink pen between his fingers, "With that attitude of hers? Mission impossible."

The butler smiled, but switched subjects quickly.

"What do you want for lunch? I assume Mr. Zwingli will join you for lunch."

"Ah yes, please prepare bacon wrapped chicken breast and grilled asparagus. For entrées and dessert course, I handed a list of respectable choices to you…"

The butler nodded but stopped halfway, "Ah, Master I forgot to inform you... Mr. Bonnefoy," he stopped to enjoy Arthur's suddenly-attentive expression when he said the specific name. "…would like to ask you to borrow one of your horses"

Arthur bit his inner cheek, "Tell him to come face me. I want to hear it from him."

"Alright then, I'll notify him." and the door closed behind the butler as he left.

Arthur spent his time waiting for the next series of knocks, staring at tax papers and twirling the pen absentmindedly. He only stopped to realize briefly how stupid he was, but was soon back to his nervous gesture.

Then he heard three knocks.

"Come in."

"You said you wanted to talk…" Francis said as he came in.

Arthur sighed in relief as he took the newcomer in and gave him a once over. The Frenchman before him actually looked healthier in the bright lighting of the room. Yes, he was still pale, but at least it wasn't as bad as the last time he saw him.

"How are you doing?" Arthur stacked some of the papers into the nearest pile on his desk.

Francis blinked and proceeded to smirk. "Aah~ are you worried about me?"

"D-don't be stupid, you are my servant. I simply don't want the police to find dying body inside my house one day!"

"No fun~" he pouted, and Arthur was momentarily reminded of his wife, how she did the same thing as the man before him. "Why can't you just be honest with yourself and the world and admit that you worried about me? Besides, I think I'm actually getting better because a sexy nurse with thick eyebrows tended to me…"

"I wonder, Francis. Have you ever gotten anything thrown into your eyes? Like this big, large, _heavy _book?" Arthur smirked coyly while brushing the thick economic book with his fingers, enjoying the look of horror that spread across the Frenchman's face like the Black Plague across Europe.

Francis gulped down and seemed to shrink, gaze stuck on Arthur's petting movements on the heavy tome. "_Non, non,_ forgive me, master. I love my eyes the way they are."

"So…" Having had his fun for the moment, Arthur changed the subject back to something more serious. "I heard you want to borrow my horse. Do you plan on running away?" Arthur put his fingers under his chin and stared at the standing Frenchman, balancing from one foot to the other in his crumpled white shirt and brown pants. Today, Francis had tied half of his hair and had let the lower half draped on his shoulder. It somehow suited him well.

"Do you still not believe that I won't leave without Mathieu?"

"Don't answer my question with another question, just bloody answer it!" Arthur frowned.

"Well, the truth is, I need a horse to go buy some medicine from the previous city I lived in. I wanted to ask your permission, because even though I don't mind walking… I guess you wouldn't be happy if you saw someone drag my half-dead body to the manor…"

Arthur was taken aback by the bluntness of the statement and took a moment to find his words again. "Well, as happy as I would be to see you dying, I wouldn't want you coming back to my house just to die at my front door. You may take the horse, but you have to return by noon, understood?" It was more of a command than a question, but Francis smiled nonetheless.

"So you do care for me. I feel flattered."

"Don't feel too high about yourself, frog! Now leave before I cancel my earlier decision!" Francis laughed before he turned to open the door and gave a last wink to Arthur before closing the door.

_Good Lord_. Arthur smiled involuntarily upon seeing Francis' condition. To be honest, he had somewhat freaked out when he'd seen Francis the other day as he laid unmoving on his bed. "_No. No-get that picture out of your brain, Arthur. He will be alright."_

* * *

It was almost afternoon when Francis arrived at the town he lived in before moving to the Kirkland manor. He did absentmindedly acknowledge, though, that he might not be able to get back to the manor on time and didn't know (and didn't _want to _know) what kind of punishment Arthur would put him through.

Walking down the familiar paths, his figure disappeared between the shadowy buildings that wrapped the gloomy district. His nostrils caught the old stench that was absent in the ever-so-clean Kirkland residence. He cringed and drowned in thought as to why he chose to come here in the first place.

Well, maybe that was because…even the smallest police force wouldn't want to come here.

After avoiding some puddles on the pothole-filled road, he stopped in front of an old store where the clerk was busying himself with stocking things on a rack. Francis recognized the clerk as the little stepbrother of the androgynous man who helped Mathieu that one time.

"_Bonjour_, Yong Soo…"

The dark brown-haired man jumped a little and almost dropped the box he held. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry," he chuckled. "Where's Yao?"

"_Hyung_ said he has something to attend to…maybe he will be back tomorrow." He stopped and stared at Francis. "Hey, what brought you here, anyway?"

"…actually I ran out of my medicine…you know, _that_ medicine."

"Oh…I can't help you with that – only _Hyung_ knows the prescription." Yong Soo bit his lower lip as Francis' face fell. "…well, if you have some left, let me see what I can do to analyse the components."

"Don't mix it with poison root please…" Francis smiled sheepishly and gave Yong Soo his medicine bag.

"Maaaybeee…" Yong Soo turned his back to Francis and started to examine the roots. He occasionally muttered something Francis couldn't catch but he guessed that it was related to the medicine's name.

While waiting for Yong Soo, he looked around while propping his right hand under his chin. Nothing had changed from this environment. It was still a dirty slum like the last time he came, even though he was just stating the obvious since it had only been a bit more than a week!

"Where have you been this past week or so? You disappeared just like that…" Yong Soo's voice and the shuffling of his clothes brought Francis' attention back to the present.

"Oh…I moved…someone gave me a job and a place to stay for Mathieu, too…," He started to rummage through his pocket, looking for his cigarettes. It made Yong Soo raise his eyebrows in surprise and mild disgust.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." he placed a new medicine bag on the counter.

"This is my only entertainment in this dull grey world." He muttered and lit his cigarette.

"Whatever, be stubborn. If you die sooner because of these cancer sticks, I won't cry at your funeral."

Francis handed him the money and smiled. "I won't invite you then. I want dramatic tears at my funeral." he winked. "Tell Yao I said hello, okay?"

"Yes yes…now go back to where ever you came from, Frenchie."

After he bid the Korean boy goodbye, he walked back to where he tied his horse. Inhaling the fresh air, he examined the weather. It was quite sunny and he thought about visiting Antonio and Gilbert in the other part of the city – he would be late either way, and surely his sour-faced master would punish him.

But he hated to make Arthur wait and felt his insides clench at the thought of worrying the Brit, who was probably questioning himself at the very moment on Francis' whereabouts.

He immediately scoffed at the thought. What was it that made him think that way? Arthur had his wife with him.

Besides, every single action that took place between them had been initiated by Francis. Probably because he was acting like a lovesick teenage girl over a man for whom he'd yet to decipher his feelings.

Maybe going back to the manor immediately was the best choice, after all.

* * *

"Brother, please try to sleep for a while. You've been anxious since last night."

"No Lili," answered Vash with his husky voice, "…we're almost there and there's no way I want Arthur to see me snoring like a lazy man inside the carriage."

Lili smiled, knowing how hard it was to console his brother when he was determined. She herself was happy to see little Alfred, the boy's smile known to have managed to heal everyone who had periods of bad moodiness. Often, Lili wondered how Alfred would grow up. Would he maintain his 100 watts smile when he got older?

Actually, it wasn't customary for Lili to tag along with his brother when he dealt with business. But an invitation had arrived at their home; two blue envelopes containing papers with perfect penmanship embedded in every fiber of the letter stated the purpose of the sending.

Vash's client had invited him to the family dinner and he only invited people who benefited him, a few family members and some businessmen here and there. And of course, as his trusted attorney, Vash was invited – he was, after all, an asset to the guy, and being that asset's sister, Lili had automatically been invited as Vash informed him that he wanted his sister to be his escort.

"I shouldn't tell him about Arthur…" Vash brushed his palms to his face. He was indeed very tired. "…and I didn't tell Arthur that I wanted to stay at his house for tonight. If I keep sitting in this carriage for any longer, I will become the Hunchback of Notre-Dame." He ended it with a deep scowl, but Lily just smiled.

"We can't do much about it, brother…if it weren't for the merchant's carriage stuck in the middle of the steep road, we wouldn't be late…Actually, I pity the cow that pulled it out. It looked tired."

"Don't remind me that we're late. Ugh, even now I can imagine how that man's face was when we didn't show up for lunch…"

And yes, Arthur was rather displeased.

He waited for the siblings until the food got cold. Alfred and Matthew's stomach were grumbling and they pretended to faint while his wife already disappeared to wherever she liked. The antique desk clock on the top of fireplace told him that they were late by 2 hours. It was already tea time. He looked at the two boys and told them that they could dig into their lunch first, before the guests arrived.

Alfred didn't waste the chance and took everything within his reach into his mouth. Timid Matthew only took small slices and glanced shyly at Arthur, who immediately noticed the furtive stares.

"What is it Matthew? Is there something you want to ask me?"

"Mr. Kirkland… I heard my Papa borrowed a horse from you to go buy medicine…Has he come back yet?"

Arthur was about to answer but he was suddenly cut off by a full-mouthed Alfred. "Maffew yu'ff too woffied bout your dad." He swallowed. "Francis is old, as old as father, so I'm sure he can find a way back to the manor…"

"It is not good to qualify someone's age as 'old'. I prefer 'ripe', thank you very much. As for your concerns, Matthew, no…your father hasn't come back yet. I was questioning myself about the same issue as you. He wouldn't run away, would he?"

Matthew's eyes formed involuntary tears, "B-but Papa told me…he wouldn't leave me…"

Alfred turned to his father and gave him his sharpest glare, "Father, look what you've done now, you made Matthew cry!"

"I-I'm sorry Matthew, I didn't mean to- uh…" Alfred's glare made him stutter. "He will…"

"Arthur, Vash has arr- Ooh what happened here?" a familiar cooing voice reached their ears.

"Mother! Father said that Matthew's papa left him here!" Upon hearing this, Matthew held his breath, trying his hardest to hold his tears back.

"I'm not-," Arthur prepared himself to make an excuse as he watched his wife raised one of her fine eyebrows. "I'm didn't mean to say that…I- I'm sorry Matthew, your father's probably on his way here right now." he paused and gulped awkwardly. "I've- got to greet Vash…see you later."

Rose watched the retreating back of her husband and muttered, "He hasn't changed at all…," before turning to console the small crying form of Matthew.

Arthur literally marched towards the drawing room, where Vash was already waiting for him. What a surprise it was as he spotted Lili just as he was about to burst out in anger.

"L-Lili? What are you doing here?" he stammered.

"That's not very courteous, you know." Vash cut in before Lili could answer, "…and you call yourself a _gentleman_?" he snorted.

Arthur clicked his tongue against the inner part of his mouth, then walked towards the young girl and kissed the back of her hand. "I'm sorry for my rudeness, Miss Lili."

"No, it's not problem, Arthur. Why do you need to be so formal?" she blushed.

"It was your brother…" he turned to Vash and glared accusingly. "What took you so long?"

"I'm late anyway, so no need for further information. Where we can talk alone?"

Arthur read the mood surrounding the bob-haired blond – it was not a good one. "Let's talk in my office." he turned to Lili. "You can eat first with the boys and Rose…if you want to, I'm sure you're hungry."

"Boys?" Asked Lili as she stood.

"Oh, just go to the dining room, Rose's there already. She will introduce you to Alfred's friend. He's a nice little kid."

Upon hearing there was another little boy, Lili rushed to the dining room and left the two adults in the drawing room. Arthur cued Vash to proceed to his study on the second floor. Vash dragged his belongings along, something that Arthur hadn't noticed before.

"What's that?" he asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Clothes – mine and Lili's. We need to attend a party nearby, so that's why I asked for your permission to stay here tonight."

"What?"

"Don't be stingy like that…And about that party... let's talk later when we're finished."

Arthur closed the door and asked Vash to sit on the nearest chair, "I didn't mean to sound selfish. It's just that you didn't say anything about this beforehand, so I couldn't prepare rooms for you."

Vash snorted, "Just order your massive crew of servants to prepare our room. I bet it will be ready in 5 minutes."

"Fine…" Arthur stood in front of Vash and leaned his body on his heavy desk. "Let's get down to business."

Vash nodded and rummaged through his belongings. The Swiss man pulled a thick folder and started searching for the documents wedged between many papers about God-knows-what. "Here, the _legal_immigration document for your _poor_ servant and his son." There was a mocking tone in his voice, and Arthur couldn't help but fake a cough.

"It's not that I pity him or anything like that, I just don't want to deal with the problem if the police come and asked about his documents."

"Right… speaking of documents, all of this really is a pain in my neck…" he threw the heavy folder to Arthur's desk, almost knocking off the neatly-piled papers on it and made Arthur yelp.

The Brit took the folder and examined Vash's hand writing on the white paper. _The Route 'He' Might Choose._

"What the heck is this? Are you starting to write a novel?"

"No, but do you remember the _Duc_ I told you about?"

Arthur raised his thick eyebrows, "Oh dear, he's still curious about who's stolen the ring?" he massaged his nose bridge and scoffed. "What a curious old man he is."

"Of course he is, it's important and he couldn't make a new one. He's not such an old man, though…he's around your age."

"Really?"

"Yes, and talking about this man, I have to hand you this…" he rummaged through his bag once more and handed Arthur the blue envelope."He invited you to a dinner tomorrow" Vash explained when he saw Arthur's puzzled face.

"I don't know this particular _Duc_, so why did he invite me? And why should I accept?"

"Because I let my tongue loose and told him about my 'other client', which would be you. As to why you should accept... Well, it's good for socializing. He has important people invited."

Arthur tapped his fingers on top of his desk, legs crossed and smirking because he knew what he was about to say would irk the Swiss. "You know, Vash…you remind me a lot of that loosely-related cousin of yours."

Vash's face suddenly became tense and he abruptly stood from the sofa he sat on before, prancing past Arthur towards the tall window behind the desk. "Haven't I told you before? I don't like you talking about that foolish aristocrat?"

"Well yeah, but I like seeing you rage about him." Arthur's snickers echoed in the room and they only served to irritate Vash more. Deciding that he had nothing to stop the Briton's teasing, he turned towards the window and raised his eyebrows.

"I guess it's not only you who will enjoy this evening with a good laugh…" he said without turning his back away from Arthur.

"What do you mean by that?"

"See for yourself…" this time it was Vash who snickered.

Below, in the garden, two figures were walking side by side. One small, delicate body which was wrapped in the best silk and cotton the region had to offer, while the other was taller and clothed in a white shirt and black pants. The girl let out a series of laughs upon hearing the jokes of her companion and they moved together through the rose garden.

"So, where did you live before coming to this country, _Monsieur_ Francis?"

"Ah _Madame_, I'm a street performer. The sky is my roof and the earth is my bed. Why bother with fix places? I can live anywhere I please…" he smiled.

"Oh _Monsieur_, you can't fool me. I heard that you borrowed Arthur's horse and I assume you're an expert to ride such a beast. A mere street performer who's never touched one could never know how to ride a horse so skilfully."

Francis' eyebrows raised. He didn't think that Mrs. Kirkland was too sharp. No wonder Arthur put his interest on her. "Well, Milady…I guess I can't give you my usual answer." he stopped just to smile at the woman in front of him, who offered him her own smile in return. "…I once lived in a farm, so I know how to ride a horse…it's not very convenient if you can't ride them when you work in a farm."

"Where is this farm of which you speak?"

Francis eyed the ground and bit his lower lip. "Ry." He gave her a short answer as he watched the soil beneath his feet.

Rose felt his unspoken discomfort and decided to change the subject of conversation when she saw her full of color rose garden.

"I never thought that you would replant my rose garden…," she looked satisfied with the rosebuds that had started to pop here and there.

"Actually _Madame_, I felt pity towards the condition of this garden and thought that it wouldn't be nice to let such beauty die so easily…" he turned to face the house's lady. "…this part of the garden resembles your husband a lot, _non_?"

This time, it was Rose's turn to feel uncomfortable and she just gave him her best polite smile. "Yes, if he continues the way he lives today, I assume he'll end up like this garden."

"That is…rather unfortunate," he diverted his gaze to the rose garden and smiled too.

"Say, Francis…" Rose broke their uncomfortable silence. "How long have you known Arthur?"

"I met him not too long ago, _Madame_. Maybe one or two months ago…," he shrugged. "Does this pose any problems?"

"I'm just thinking, I guess. You really are close to him."

Francis snorted, "I'm afraid not, _Madame_. He and I more like cat and mouse…"

"No, Francis, I'm sorry. I should've rephrased my question." the _Dame _cut Francis' speech short. "Do you and Arthur, by any means, have some kind of relationship?"

The next words mouthed soundlessly were lost to Arthur as Vash interrupted.

"I think you should un-stick your face from the window, Arthur. It's creepy…" he remarked coolly.

"Shut up! What do you know?" Arthur finally turned his face towards the other man. "He's talking to my wife…of all the people in the world, why my wife?"

"Why you so worked out about that?"

"Because, what if…" he let his sentence hanging on the air.

"'What if' what? The Frenchman steals your wife again? Or you don't want your wife to know you have a secret with the servant?"

Arthur hesitated for too long.

Francis lit his cigarette, the _Dame_ still looking at him with her curious blue eyes. He inhaled and exhaled, enjoying his moment of thought. The same thought that had appeared when he had bought his medicine before.

"Yes, _Madame_…I'm afraid so…" the lady was about to open her mouth to say something but Francis raised his hand to make her stop. "…I'm his servant, what else? He helped me so much with Mathieu's education and our life... I can't thank him enough." He smiled when he saw the house's Madam pursing her lips tight, seemingly satisfied enough with his answer.

It really was his answer, even though he knew deep down inside that maybe, just a little bit, he wanted Arthur for himself. Funny how things happened just in the nick of time.

Arthur opened his mouth. "W-what's with your assumption? My wife just came here and she's already talking intimately with another man. To top things off, he's a servant! What will people say about that?"

Vash's sharp gaze bore into Arthur's heart as if he could see what he was hiding. "I see…I won't push you too far because I'm afraid you will suffocate yourself to find a good lie." Vash turned to sit on the sofa again. "You're bad with lies and you should know that since what happened that day, a long time ago."

"S-shut up!" Arthur turned to the big windows again, only to find that they weren't there anymore.

Trying to keep the heavy thoughts and doubts from hanging on his mind, he took Vash's heavy papers and flipped the pages casually. One word caught his attention, and he instantly found the perfect subject switch. "

"So how's the progress on the search for this ring thief?"

Vash sighed. "We spotted him around the place a month ago and decided to stalk him to confirm his settlement. But sadly, he moved away and now, we're clueless…"

"Smooth bastard, isn't he?"

"Yes, but believe it or not, our spy's connection there managed to befriend this man."

"Wait, who is this spy you're talking about?"

"Braginski, of course!"

"You're using _my_ spy to solve _your_ problem?" Arthur asked in disbelief.

"You said I could use his services anytime I needed."

"Vash, damn it! I don't want to be involved in any of your cases, and if the authority finds out about _my_ spy's involvement in a murder case, I will-"

"Bribe them into silence." Vash finished his sentence for him. "Good lord, Arthur – this isn't a murder case. This case is a search for a missing person who happens to be a thief, as well. You should be proud if the guy manages to get caught!"

"But still, the _Duc_ isn't clear either, right?" he rolled his eyes.

"Well, that was his henchman. He was never stated to be involved in the murder case anyway."

Arthur sighed in defeat. It was useless to hold a battle of wits with the attorney in front of him. If he were able to win the debate, he would be the lawyer instead – not the businessman.

"Alright then, I'll come." Arthur handed him the thick document and Vash took it, putting it back into his briefcase – a briefcase he never trusted anyone else to bring or touch, no matter how heavy it got.

"I believe we reached our agreement, so I should retreat to my room and look for Lili. I'm afraid your son will make her more exhausted than she already feels…"

"Oh please, Alfred's too small to do something like that!" Arthur snorted, always eager to get the last word.

Vash's face turned red at the implications, but he figured he might as well admit defeat and turned around. "Tch, you and your dirty mind!" then he stomped outside the study, leaving Arthur to chuckle until his stomach hurt.

Just as Vash walked out from the study with his sour face, he came face-to-face with the lady of the Kirkland household. Rose curtseyed and Vash bowed a little, despite being mildly startled.

"Have you finished your business with Arthur, dear Vash?"

"For today yes. Oh, Rose, I think you must prepare yourself for an invitation I just gave to Arthur."

"Oh! From who is it, if I may ask?"

"It was from a duke. He's my client, too, and he wants to invite Arthur for dinner."

"A duke? How lovely! What a nice guy he is."

"Well…putting that aside, you seem to give a lot of your attention to Frenchmen."

Rose chuckled. "You may say I'm a Francophile."

"I'm not surprised." the sound of a half mocking chuckle could be heard escaping his lips and Rose's expression changed drastically. "…I saw you walking together with the French servant too. As a friend of your dear husband, may I know what you talked about with that certain servant?"

Rose smirked. "If I allegedly talked about something that valuable to your interests, what makes you think that I would spill it out?"

"I don't like saying this, but your husband's point of view is heavily influenced by me. If you still have the intention of reuniting with him, I suggest you spill whatever you hiding." Vash put the smuggest smirk he could muster on his face and Rose's face hardened.

"Fine…I only talked a little, about my rose garden and where he lived before he worked as a street artist. Small talk of the sort." Of course, Rose wasn't about to admit her suspicions towards the servant, as it would embarrass her if they came to turn out wrong.

"Interesting." He was about to end the conversation right there when he noticed something that picked at his curiosity. "Rose, could you possibly tell me where he lived beforehand?"

"Why?"

"Just tell me."

"He said he used to live in Ry, on a farm, which is why he's able to control horse so skilfully…"

But Vash couldn't hear Rose's voice anymore after that because his brain was flooded by other things; specifically the things inside his heavy luggage. He bit his lip and hastily bid Rose goodbye before storming to the room designed for him (he always slept in that particular room whenever he stayed over anyway). He locked the door behind him and scattered his documents on the table before picking up the particular file with his cursive handwriting on it.

_'The Route 'He' Might Choose'_.

"_No way. I want to dismiss his name because it's quite common but how many Francis Bonnefoy can live in once small place called Ry?"_

Roughly, he flipped the pages, quickly reading through, and when he found the particular spot he'd been looking for, his eyes widened.

"Ha…after all this time…how stupid of me…"

He laughed in satisfaction as he threw the documents to the table. The page showed the first location of his target, the individual data and where he came from.

_Name: Francis Bonnefoy.  
__D.O.B: 14 July 1821.  
__First domiciled in: Le Lys de La Vallée Farm, Ry, Seine-Maritime, Haute-Normandie, France._

_**~to be continued~**_

* * *

**(Beta's notes: Oh hai guys :D You better be enjoying this as much as I am, cause I'm practically jumping in my seat at this very moment ._. The author truly is amazing, isn't she? ^^)**

Translations:

**(French)**

_Bonjour:_ Hello

_Dame:_ Lady

_Madame:_ Milady

_Monsieur:_ Sir or Mister. Most probably used as "mister" in the context, considering the class difference between Rose and Francis.

_Duc:_ Duke

**(Korean)**

_Hyung_: Big brother (I think)

**(Alfredian)**

_Maffew yu'ff too woffied bout your dad.: _Matthew, you're too worried about your dad (:

* * *

**A/N: and here's the scone's recipe from our lovely beta (seems easy, I'll give it a shot):**

2 cups flour  
1 tbsp baking powder  
1 tbsp sugar  
1/2 tsp salt  
3 tbsp butter (not melted)  
1 beaten egg  
3/4 cups of milk APPROXIMATELY.  
A reasonable amount of whatever you'd like to have in your scones (cherries, blueberries, coconut, chocolate, almonds, etc...)

0) Preheat oven to 450C.  
1) Mix all the dry ingredients together  
2) Add in the butter and either mix it in the industrial mixer, or by hand. I do it by hand.  
3) Put it in the egg and mix until it's gone. Add cherries/blueberries/anything else you might feel like having in your scones and knead gently.  
4) Once it's a uniform paste, divide dough into small, slightly flat pieces and place them on a greased baking sheet.  
5) Bake for about 10-12 minutes, until golden outside.  
6) ENJOY :D


	9. Patching Up the Puzzle

Aaahhh thank you for beta-ing this for me, **No Pain No Gain** or previously known as **Legend of Zelda 4 Life**, thank you(s) never enough and you're fast as usual ;U;

**cherliona yuri : **aaahh orang Indonesia lagi :DD hahaha makasih dah review m(_ _)m dan soal update waktu awal-awal per 2 minggu kok tapi setelah aktif lagi di tumblr jadi terbengkalai orz. Lololol kenapa semuanya benci sama Rose? Kasian doi XD. Oh iya pengen coba nulis FrUK/FACE family pake bahasa Indonesia tapi su-su-susah *geplaked*

Ah thank you for you who still following, reading, alerting, favoriting, and reviewing this fanfic...I-I hope you enjoy this chapter...

* * *

**Chapter 9: Patching Up the Puzzle**

But there still was a hole in the situation, Vash thought. He massaged his forehead for the fifth times since the revelation. If that person was the same person he was looking for, then how could he explain the existence of the small boy he called his son?

That person's child was killed even before he could walk.

He didn't know how many times he'd read about the man called Francis Bonnefoy in his data and had stared at the rough sketch the _Duc_ had described to the local artist. In the picture and description, Francis Bonnefoy – the wanted man – had short blond hair, blue eyes and fair skin. Vash hadn't met 'Arthur's' Francis but he was damn sure that this Francis was the same Francis as on his note.

But there was still that small hole in logic that he couldn't get rid of.

He pulled an empty white paper from his stack of documents and started to write down his thoughts. He wanted to make it clear for himself, at least until he could prove that the man was indeed the one he was looking for.

There were knocks on the door before he could start writing his letter.

"Yes?"

"Dinner's ready Mr. Zwingli." He recognized the voice of Arthur's old butler.

"Yes, I'm coming…"

Vash put his ink pen down back on its stand before giving a last look at the unwritten letter and walking outside his room.

* * *

Arthur stood before his wife's closet inside their shared bedroom. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, waiting for his wife to get dressed before they could walk down to the dining room. The afternoon's events were running inside his brain again and he was getting too curious for his own good.

"Already targeting another Frenchman?" he suddenly blurted out of the blue.

"Pardon?" she asked him back from inside the closet.

"This afternoon, I saw you with my lowly servant – a _Frenchman_…" he paused to hyphenate the word 'Frenchman' on his tongue. " – in the garden, talking about something I don't think I want to know."

Rose walked out from the closet, approaching him in her corset and panties, one of her fine brows raised with a smug look on her face. She stopped and stood in Arthur's personal space, pressing her breasts on his chest and brushing her fingers on his cheek. She then leaned closer until Arthur could feel her warm breath meet his.

"Is that jealousy I detect, dear husband of mine?"

Arthur stared at the woman before him and, lowering his face until their lips almost touched, he whispered. "I don't think I feel anything but pity…," he pushed her away from him gently before continuing, "That you would actually repeat the same mistake twice, first with the stableman and now – a servant." Rose's eyebrows knitted. "I thought you would have better taste in men, Rose. I am disappointed." He snickered and turned to the door. "Hurry _darling_, put your dress on. I don't like making our guests wait."

Arthur could hear the frustrated huffs even from behind the closed door.

* * *

At the dinner table, Vash was waiting silently. He didn't even mind coming before the host since Arthur literally said he could do anything while staying at his house. That included waiting in the dining room even before Arthur asked him to come.

His eyes darted from one servant to another. He'd never seen this Francis Bonnefoy, except having eyed him in the distance. The 'suspect' now adorned shoulder-length wavy hair and a quite lithe figure. It was quite different from the description that his client had given him, though, but his hunch had always led him to victory in dealing with the case he handled.

Funny, an attorney like him wasn't even supposed to act like a professional detective.

The man he was investigating suddenly stepped into the room, pushing a trolley with various appetizers on it. Vash got ready to interrogate him when a hand was suddenly put on his shoulder. He turned to see Arthur staring at him curiously. He 'tsk'-ed and looked at his target once more just to realize there was no Francis Bonnefoy anymore in the room.

"Why are you here?" asked Vash, a little bit upset.

Arthur was taken aback by the childish tone in his voice. "That should be my question. Since when have you become attracted to servants and maids that prepare our dinner?"

"You just don't understand…"

"Tell me then."

"I can't. This is a _top secret _affair. I want to make sure of my hypothesis first."

"Apparently, your _top secret _affairs lie beneath my roof, so I don't see why I can't know?"

"You wouldn't be interested. This is about the _Duc_."

Arthur stared at his attorney before opening his mouth, but no voice came out. He looked like a fish out of the pond, Vash thought.

"What the hell is this about, Vash?" Arthur asked finally after he found his voice. "I don't have any connection whatsoever to the _Duc_ and you said something that implies that he has something _in_ my house?"

Vash looked at his client and friend in the eyes, letting the short silence envelop them both. "You may have no connection to him, but maybe that's not the case for one of your servants…"

Even if Arthur wanted to say something, he was cut off when the ladies and boys came and join them in the dining room. He decided to follow them in choosing the seats instead of pushing the issue further and he didn't bring the subject up during the small talk induced while they were eating. Nonetheless, Arthur followed the other green-eyed man's gaze as he focused on the servants and maids that came and went, and of course, the attorney noticed the obvious spying from the host. Still, he didn't show that he knew anything and didn't make unnecessary gestures when a certain servant showed up.

He was torn between loving the curious expression in his friend's eyes and keeping the speculations to himself.

Later at night, Vash stared at the white surface of the paper he had decided to neglect before dinner. He twirled the ink pen between his thumb and index finger, doubting for the first time the pursuit of his curiosity.

_This should be easy_, he told himself but he couldn't get his hands to work on the letter. He exhaled and decided to walk outside his room again; trying to get some fresh air that might loosen his weary brain.

But as he walked in the back garden, he noticed that the light from the kitchen still illuminated the small part of the garden since the door was widely open. His feet worked faster than his head and brought him to the backside of the manor. Vash noticed that his target was alone, brewing something that smelled somewhat offending to his nose.

"Still awake?" Vash asked without warning and the servant jumped.

"_Dieu_…ah you scared me Mr. Zwingli…" the blond smiled.

"What are you brewing in that pot?" he asked curiously.

"My medicine, my sickness is quite stubborn. I need to drink the concoction every day or my little boy will get sad…" he poured the liquid in a mug while chuckling. Vash eyed the blackish concoction and his brows subconsciously furrowed. "Doesn't smell very good, right?" Francis chuckled again, noticing the frown.

"It's horrible…" he approached the servant further, eyeing every line on his face. Vash's eagle-eye vision would never miss any hidden clues, and today, he had found his prey, Francis Bonnefoy.

He had deep sky colored eyes that slightly drooped at the edge. At this time, his eyes were very kind and serene, but Vash knew that his eyes could be fierce when he wanted them to. While his face illustrated unspoken tiredness, with dark circles and bags under his eyes, he still tried to smile.

"Say, Mr. Bonnefoy, I heard you worked as street musician before you worked here?"

"Oh, that's true." he looked inside his mug and furrowed his brows. "It was harsh life, especially for Mathieu. I wouldn't have minded if I had traveled alone, but…"

"I need to know a few things since your master, Mr. Kirkland, asked me to handle a paper for you and your son."

"Paper?" Francis blinked in confusion.

"It's not a big deal, but I just wanted to know. During your travels to entertain people, did you happen to meet a man named Rodolphe Bridoux?"

Francis' hand halted in midair as he tried to drink the concoction. He pressed his lips into one thin line before answering, "No…I'm afraid I don't know him."

Vash's eyebrows rose. Indeed, what had he been expecting? That the man before him would answer his question truthfully? Since when had he become so naïve?

"I see…" His eyes diligently watched as Francis uncomfortably held his right arm. "Does your arm hurt?"

"Huh? No…I…it's not…" he bit his lower lip.

Vash nodded and walked towards the kitchen's exit. "Well, I shall bid you goodnight for now. Oh, and you forgot your medicine." He pointed at the mug with the grimy liquid inside it.

"Ah, yes thank you for reminding me…goodnight…" Francis didn't even bother to turn and face the Swiss.

As the Swiss' steps disappeared from his hearing, Francis closed his eyes and let himself sink on the floor. Leaning on the nearest counter, he inhaled sharply as if the amount of oxygen he'd breathed before hadn't been enough to fill his lungs. He opened his eyes and watched his surroundings, reminding himself that he was still in the Kirkland manor. Not in the white room that appeared almost every night in his dreams, now that it had resurged in his memores.

_Rodolphe Bridoux_, he tried the name on his lips. A name that gave him a bad feeling, a name that felt somewhat familiar but so foreign at the same time.

Unconsciously, he rolled the sleeve of the white shirt he wore. The faint red dots were still there, and he stared at them as if searching for answers that might be locked inside his memory. Unfortunately, nothing except the white room and unrecognizable masked people inside that gave him daily injections as 'medication' came up.

A medication he couldn't even remember the reason for.

Now in complete silence he thought about his wife, a sudden longing sweeping him back into the past. A face he couldn't even remember anymore, a figure of a woman that would scold him every time he came home with a messy clothes... Everything had now disappeared from his brain.

Francis sobbed and chuckled at the same time, cursing how stupid he was. How come he'd failed to recognize his wife's face or figure? He was looking at his surroundings again, with messy hair falling over his face, trying to subdue his tears. The pain was just too much, though. He finally curled back against the counter and let the tears fall, whispering her name repeatedly as hyperventilation started creeping up over him.

"Jeanne…Jeanne…"

* * *

"Tell me what you're hiding from me."

The voice stopped Vash in his steps and made him turn around, just to find Arthur walking out of the drawing room.

"You scared me."

Arthur snorted. "Care to explain? What do you mean by one of my servants probably having connections with the _Duc_?"

"Why do you care so much? I thought you didn't want to have anything to do with the Duc?"

"Because I don't want to have anything to do with him, so I deserve to know. As the master of this manor, I would like to know which one of my servants is probably indulging in… wrongdoings…with the_Duc_…"

It was already dark in the manor, only a few candles lit for directional purposes, but other than that, the big house was just as dead as a graveyard. Vash sighed and muttered about how Arthur could be so stubborn when he was curious but Arthur just shrugged his friend's words off, his eyes still demanding answers.

"First…" Vash started. "The _Duc_ probably didn't do anything wrong like you assume." That statement resulted with a grunt from Arthur. "The second, it is him – the servant I suspect to have ties with the _Duc_is none other your French guy."

Arthur froze, incapable to respond to Vash's revelation or the mention of 'your French guy' in the same sentence.

"I thought I told you about my suspicion when you handed me the task of legal immigration paper for him."

"W-well, yes, but on what basis did you conclude your speculation?"

"It might not clear at this moment, there are holes here and there, and that's why I want to investigate deeper." He turned on his heels to leave but Arthur's tugged on his arm.

"No, I mean…stop it, you are not a detective."

Vash freed himself from Arthur's hands. "And why, pray tell, shouldn't I keep up with this case?"

"Do me a favor…" he inhaled. "Please?"

"Do you know something about him that I don't know?"

Arthur shook his head. "I had a hunch…if you continue this, it'll only hurt him."

"Then again, why should I care?" he stared at his friend whose face had stiffened. "He's a complete stranger to me Arthur, and I have my client – the _Duc_ – who is almost going crazy just to find a single ring. If he's the one he was looking for, I can't let him roam free before claiming what he took from my client."

Arthur was about to open his mouth before he heard a loud sigh escape his friend's mouth. "Next time, before you decide to trust someone, please check their background. Good night, Arthur." With that he resumed his steps and disappeared from Arthur's sight.

Arthur rubbed his temples and walked towards the servants' chamber. He peeked before deciding that the hallway was empty and safe enough for him to knock at the door of a certain Frenchman.

It took him several moments before the soft knocks were responded to, and the door flung open to reveals a tired looking Francis. Arthur's eyes widened at the sight of the faded, pale colour of the normally so peachy skin.

"Is there anything I can help you with at this hour?" Francis asked.

"Were you crying?"

Francis stepped aside to give Arthur access to his room and he was followed by the Briton whose eyes tailed his every movement.

"I was just…" he pulled a chair and heaved a heavy breath as he sat down motioning for Arthur to sit where ever he liked. "I was just missing my wife a bit…silly me." He waved his hand in the air as if dismissing a fly buzzing near him.

Arthur couldn't say anything about that. He just sat there, next to his wavy-haired servant, mouth shut, not even making a comment about the situation or thinking about cheering the other up. He just sat.

That grabbed Francis' attention. He turned to see the Briton fumbling with his own fingers to fill the silence between them, "You're bad company, you know." He chuckled. It sounded so heavy, even to his own ears. "If I were with someone else, they'd already have offered me comforting words…"

"What do you expect me to say to you?"

"I don't know…maybe something like 'please don't be sad' or something like that."

"I can't…" Francis eyebrows rose at the immediate answer that Arthur gave. "What can a lonely person that hasn't found the cure for his own sickness offer to another lonely soul? Wouldn't you think it'd be bad comfort?"

Francis stared at his master before bursting out laughing so hard, Arthur had to put his palms over his ears to cover the Frenchman's laughter while his mouth spilled swears that weren't that silent, either. After he calmed himself, Francis smiled softly. "But there is something that two lonely people can do when they're together."

Arthur eyed Francis as he dug into his pocket. "What's that?"

He offered him a cigarette, Arthur eyeing the nicotine sticks before taking one for himself. Francis smiled and lit Arthur's cigarette before lighting his own. They took a long drag that made them feel easy.

"At least they won't be alone when they're together…"

Arthur hummed before puffing the thick smoke trough his lips. It was his first time smoking again after a few years, but his body seemed to be so accustomed that he found no contradiction as the nicotine flowed through his system once again.

"Do you find me as a good company?" Arthur suddenly asked without looking at the person beside him.

"Well, yes of course…"

"Did Vash ask you something this evening?"

"Nothing much."

"I don't believe you."

Francis chuckled, "No one asked you to believe what I say, _cher_."

"Just spill it, Bonnefoy."

Noticing that the other man's mood was on the verge of ruin, Francis decided to talk. "Well, he asked me if I had come to know a certain person during my job as a street performer, nothing more."

"And?"

"I said I didn't know…" Arthur's eyes fixed on his. "…that's the truth."

"Good, maybe he mentioned the name of other people he worked with…" he put his cigarette out and stood, preparing himself to leave.

"W-where are you going?" Francis hastily put his cigarette out too and grabbed Arthur's arm.

"To my room, I guess?" his expression was puzzled and he shrugged.

"Oh…" he let go of his arm and laughed groggily. "I-I thought you would want to stay a bit longer…" he rubbed the spot behind his neck, a tick he always had when he was nervous.

Arthur felt his face heating up. "S-stupid, I-I never said I wanted to stay long, I-I just wanted to confirm whether you said something stupid to Vash…I…"

"It's fine, I understand…" he smiled and turned to put the chair back in its place. "You have your wife waiting there." Francis felt pathetic.

"Fran…"

"No, it's stupid, just forget it and go back to your room…I just feel quite awkward for saying something foolish enough to embarrass me…" he chuckled.

"Francis, will you listen to me, please?"

Francis stopped, looking at the other man with knitted brows. He didn't know how to respond to Arthur's command. He looked so serious, it made it hard for him to turn his head somewhere else.

Arthur lowered his gaze, biting his lower lip and once again twiddling his fingers, feeling at loss on what to say to the waiting Frenchman. "I…I don't have that kind of feeling anymore for her…"

Damn, now he felt his face starting to heat up – why were there never holes around when you needed to hide?

"Oh…" Francis stuttered, covering his mouth with one of his hands. "Oh…"

"I thought you knew already?" Arthur stomped his feet.

"Oh yeah, of course…" he laughed groggily. "No…actually, I..."

Arthur eyed him in disbelief. "Seriously, didn't you see I was opposing her return to this house?"

"Well…the truth is, I thought you were already back on good terms with her. So I figured that staying here longer wouldn't have been a good choice."

Arthur scowled. "Silly". He planted his gaze on the floor and once in a while stole glances at Francis, who didn't know how to respond and stood still, holding the chair. "I…" he walked towards Francis, his fingers brushing the side of the table before enveloping the other's pale knuckles.

He stood very close to Francis, their eyes meeting. Green met blue; the earth met the sky as Arthur reached his hands out to hold Francis' face and gently tugged him forward, in his direction, until their lips met.

It was a soft kiss, a gentle gesture that they'd never done before and it ended as fast as Arthur started it. "I-I…don't mind, staying longer tonight…" he quickly turned his head and figured that the table was more interesting than Francis' face or expression.

Francis chuckled and put his hands behind the small of Arthur back before cupping his chin and kissing the blushing man's forehead. "Is that really all right?"

Arthur pouted. "Unless you want me to change my mind…" he was about to free himself from Francis' arms but he just tightened his grip over the Briton.

"No, I'm sorry…please stay tonight…"

There was urgency in his voice that made Arthur stop his actions and face the Frenchman, "Don't you ever doubt my decision again, frog, or I will leave since you're annoying me so much."

Francis closed his eyes and murmured his apology as Arthur wrapped his arms around the seemingly too frail body and settled his forehead on Francis' shoulder. He sighed, feeling the sudden peace that he was looking for after his short talk with Vash in front of the drawing room. He didn't want to think about Vash's speculation, the _Duc_, the silly accusation towards the man who held him. All he need was this man and that was enough.

Arthur tugged Francis' shirt and buried his face deeper. He didn't care if it hurt a bit and he could hear Francis' little gasp as Arthur's cold fingers swept over his back. He held Arthur by the upper arms to read his expression but the Briton hung his head low. On the flicker of a candle in his room, he could see the tips of his reddened ears.

"Look at me, Arthur."

"N-no…" Arthur resisted as if he was a thief, caught red-handed.

Francis smiled and sighed. "It's fine…" He tugged Arthur's chin, kissing him softly and whispered. "…Would it be bad if I said…I wanted you?"

If it were possible, Arthur's face would have become redder than before. As if to respond to Francis' question before, he didn't answer but buried his face into Francis' chest and tugged his shirt hard, as if Francis would slip away if he didn't hold on to it.

"Is that a yes?" Francis asked quizzically.

"S-shut up, frog! Just get this over with!"

They broke away from holding each other in their arms as Francis led him towards his bed, asking him to sit down on it. Arthur stiffened, but complied. Francis smiled when he noted Arthur's reaction; he understood that the other man had never involved himself in this kind of relationship. A relationship considered taboo and that would lead him to his downfall if someone caught him together with another man.

"Relax...I won't hurt you."

"If you dare hurt me, I'll kill you right away!" Well, at least he still had his short temper.

Francis' smile stayed on his face while he reached out and started to unbutton Arthur's shirt. Arthur's eyes widened as the bony fingers unlatched the buttons from their holes one by one. "W-wait, what are you doing?"

Francis looked at his master and raised a brow. "Undressing you?"

"Oh…um…j-just don't get my shirt all crumpled, 'kay?"

"_Dieu_, are you always this awkward when you're about to have sex?"

Arthur threw him the pillow, fuming at his last question. "I-I am not! I can totally handle most of my sex life!"

Francis wore the 'oh really?' look openly on his face, and Arthur was obviously displeased but couldn't bring himself to stand up and leave. Francis held his hand and sat by his side, trying a different approach to make his partner relaxed.

He kissed him.

Again.

And again, until Arthur forgot that Francis had managed to make him lay down on the bed. Their kisses quickly escalated from gentle to frantic, and the lack of air didn't stop them from devouring and tasting each other's mouths. Their hands roamed freely, resulting with unconscious moans and grunts from either of them.

Arthur opened his eyes when he realized that Francis was already hovering on top of him, his hair tousled and his shirt discarded somewhere on the floor. Without a doubt, the Briton still thought of how pretty he was – of course he only admitted that inside his head – he'd rather die than admit something that could make Francis tease him.

And upon that thought he smiled.

Francis' eyes widened when he saw Arthur smiling, something he'd had yet to see before. Arthur reached out and linked his fingers behind Francis' neck, dragging him back down towards him for a deep kiss. "I-I think I'm ready…"

* * *

Vash's steps clinked in the empty hall. He held the letter he was about to deliver with the help of a messenger, but the first thing to do after writing it was to find his messenger. He could've had someone call him, but no, he figured he'd rather to do it himself.

The next place he searched after the failed attempt to find him in the servants' common room was the servant's chamber.

And he thought he heard his friend's voice muffled behind the closed door when he finally reached it.

Not only Arthur's voice, but also the creaking sounds of a bed, and the rustle of fabrics. As Vash concentrated even more, he could hear series of guttural grunts and cries, mixed words in French and English.

_Arthur, why you love making things more complicated?_

He turned around and resumed his search for another messenger he knew when said messenger incidentally turned down the hall and came walking in his direction.

"Goodnight Mr. Zwingli, I was told by the others at the servants' common room that you were looking for me and they said you'd try visiting the servants' chambers. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Oh yes, I was looking for you. Please deliver this letter tonight to a man called Ivan Braginski. He'll know what to do."

"I understand. Is there anything else you would like me to do?"

"No, just that…you may leave."

When the messenger left, Vash looked back to a certain room that was still in his line of sight and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. Even though you are my friend, work is still work…and I can't leave what I start unfinished."

**~ to be continued ~**

* * *

(**Beta's Notes**: I changed my penname OTL But asides that, I hope you guys liked this chapter! Things are getting complicated :O)

**Translations:**

(French)

_cher_: dear

_Dieu_: god


	10. The Curious Hound

**A/N: **I'm sorry…it's been a year (nervous laughter) orz. Thank you for your patiency to follow this fic ;A;

Arthur's role in this chapter is kind of limited, more mysteries and characters ahead! XD

I will ask you to play detective a bit here, by the end of the story…even though it wasn't clear I have a clue for you to combine some of the clues from Francis dreams/thoughts from previous previous chapters. If you managed to do it, you might find an answer about one of the mysteries. If you already know the answer, please don't spoil it for people who haven't found it yet, good luck!

this one isn't beta-ed yet, I guess No Pain No Gain is busy at this moment, and I don't want to poke and annoy her ;_; I'm sorry for the inconvenience

* * *

**Chapter 10: the Curious Hound**

Footsteps were heard by the dawn in the shabby neighborhood, a young man looked around looking for an address latched on the white envelope. He sighed for several times, as his silent protest of having assignment to this certain area that he prefers to avoid now that he has a better place to live. He glanced once again to find a rather tilted building that he had not to investigate. He walked closely until he can read the dust and mold covered banner in front of the building.

_Dragon Nest._

What a tacky name, he thought but it didn't matter anymore, he found the place, now that he had to do was to search the recipient of the letter.

He walked inside to find a rather young Asian male tending the receptionist table. The expressionless kid took a glance at him and said nothing, not even a greeting. He decided to approach him to show him the letter.

"Level 2. Room 202."

That boy informed him, he nodded and asked himself whether it is okay to come to someone's room even though he wasn't one of the employees nor the occupants, but duty is still duty, if he was to blame, he would tell the person to blame the receptionist.

He knocked the room 202's door several times and waited patiently.

* * *

The knocks bother him, he pushed his rather large companion to answer the knocks but the man was sleeping like he was dead. He grumbled and sit, blinking his eyes several times to shun away the sleep before dragged his naked feet to the front door.

* * *

The door was open after three times knocking, showing a grumpy petite Asian man with a lush long dark hair draped beautifully on his shoulder, darn he would say he was a woman if he didn't recognize the lack of chest lumps material that being shown since he was wearing rather loose fabric.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Ah, excuse me…," he startled. "I-I have a letter for a person called Ivan Braginski…"

"Yes, he lives here..." his eyes suddenly alerted, as if knowing that he or this person called Ivan Braginski was expecting his visit to deliver something.

He handed the letter to the pretty Asian and bid his goodbye. At least his job ended already, now the image of warm cream soup filling his mind as he stepped lightly out from the Dragon Nest and its shabby environment.

* * *

Back in the room, the Asian man had his hair tied into a tight ponytail before going back to the bed, where the true recipient of the letter still dreaming a bowl of _shchi_ back on his harsh homeland, though he didn't mind to have Chinese hot and sour soup anytime of the days.

"Wake up you big oaf!"

When his call didn't affect the larger man, he decided to roll the other man until he fell down from the bed, the ash blond-haired man grunts in protest.

"Why do you always waking me up so harshly?"

"Be thankful I didn't kick you." The Asian man replied flatly.

"Does something happen?"

"You've got a letter." He handed him the white envelope.

The Russian gazed at the writing on the envelope, "Vash…"

He read the letter while his roommate was preparing for the morning tea. The Chinese man's murmured a forgotten children's song in his native, a habit he always done in the morning, accompanying whatever the Russian's do.

"What does the letter said?" his singing changed into question.

"He said, he probably already found the target that he was searching for in Arthur manor, and…"

"And?"

"It seems Arthur is quite infatuated with him, Vash said he was worried about this matter and he wanted to finish all this ring business immediately if he found any strong proofs. He needs me to clarify some things…"

"Oh," he responded curtly before adding. "So, there he goes…Francis basically is in tiger's den right now." He said, more to himself while remembering the sick man who always visiting his herbal medicine shop to suppress his sickness.

The Chinese man knew about Francis, even though his first meeting with little Mathieu in front of a toy shop several months ago was accidental, but after Ivan told him that he was appointed to search for a certain man, he couldn't let his eyes off from the father and son.

The Russian's chuckled before joining him in the small table they shared in the room, "Not quite right, Francis is in the grasp of the duke's hound. Vash is a very sharp man, he'll know if something amiss, Yao…" he sipped his tea.

"What will you do now?"

"Hmm…?"

"With all of this revealed so fast, what will you do? Which side you're in?" he calmly watched his roommate.

Ivan smiled and propped his head on his left hand, "Who knows…"

* * *

"Well then, we shall be going, don't blow the house kids." Arthur said before he followed his wife to the carriage.

Mathieu and Alfred waved their hands until the carriage disappear on the next turn. The boys were racing to Alfred's room, knowing that their favorite teacher will arrive soon. Now Francis was left with household tasks as Arthur's butler clapped his hands and distributing their tasks to prepare the master's comeback on the next day.

"Unbelievable that he told us to go first to somebody's party we don't know." Arthur started his morning sulking.

"It doesn't matter right, he will come eventually, he said he has something to do first."

"Yes, his stupid papers…"

"Now that you mention it, is there any indication that this papers you're talking about related to Mr. Bonnefoy?"

Arthur silenced upon hearing the name from his wife. "Since when it becomes your concern?"

"I was just asking," Rose seemed annoyed with his husband's reaction and she digs her purse to take his long smoking pipe. "He seemed rather interested in my conversation with Mr. Bonnefoy, though we didn't talk about something particular."

"Really?" her conversation picked his interest, "what did you talked about? Runaway plan?" he couldn't help but adding his signature acidic comment.

Rose blew plenty amount of smoke, enough to make the carriage clouded with thin amount of musty substance. "Don't be fool, I learned from my mistakes. If I don't know you better, I will think that you're jealous." She smiled upon seeing his face tensed. "Worry not, I was just asking about his previous life, where he lived…and such…nothing big. But actually that was a conversation that made Vash bolted back to his room…I don't know why…"

Arthur knew, if there is something that made Vash worked up, that would be things related to his sister Lili and his job. That small conversation maybe led him to another conclusion to reveal something about his servant's involvement with the _Duc_. Uneasiness rushed to his mind just by thinking of that, he had a bad feeling that things weren't as simple as he thought, that's why he asked Vash to give up this case for him.

But he refused him flatly – his involvement was more than a nail's deep and led by his sharp intuition, he knew he will succeed on finding what he needed.

He hated to admit that his lawyer's hunch (and proofs) is _always_ stronger than his defense.

* * *

Ivan sighed after the long journey; his body was aching pleading for a nice stretch. Well, after his business was done, he would ask Yao to give him a massage he wanted, though he doubted that the lithe man would do something without charge. He decided to take a walk for a while, looking what kind of environment that Vash needed to know in his report.

It was a rather peace village, just like what he expected from a farmers' land. The thought came to him that asking to some people about Francis might be useful, though he already pocketing most of information before he came to this place himself, many of them weren't shared yet to Vash, he just love to see the Swiss man worked hard and confused.

He chuckled at the thought.

Ah, now that he was here, he needed to see the farm with his own eyes. He hoped the farm was still there just like his informant said to him several weeks ago.

The coachman delivered him to _Le Lys de La Vallée_ Farm or someplace which held the name before. People said after the disappearance of Francis and the big fire, the farm was being taken by the _Duc_ as sympathy. The person who was once an employer of a person whose body was found in the ruins overrules this place without thinking that he might be dragged in the murdering case, it was a very brave move, Ivan must admit.

Or he was doing it because he was desperate, very desperate he didn't care about the murder and burned down case. He has his alibi; he has his power, and everything seems perfect from the surface.

Ivan smirked. As a spy, he knew better.

* * *

The _Duc_ manor was already filled by hundreds of people when Arthur arrived. He was grateful actually that he didn't have to face the _Duc_ face to face. From the merriment of the party, even before the sun went down, Arthur was thinking that this person was a big spender. Of course his guests won't mind as long there were a lot of foods to eat and wine to drink.

Arthur helped Lili and Rose out from the carriage before escorting them to the entrance stairs where he shows his invitation to a security. The man examine his invitation and called a servant, he talked in a very low tone and handed Arthur, along with Rose and Lili to the care of the servant while

He led them to a different room and Arthur felt something's wrong. Maybe his hope to not meeting the host was too high, that God refused to grant.

When the door was open, he found a rather tall man sitting inside the room; his face was sullen, as if he was being dragged to this manor. Arthur didn't say a thing and kept walking until he found a seating.

The servant left them without anything to say. Arthur shifted uncomfortably on his chair, the journey in a carriage on bumpy road wasn't something he expected after he had sex with his servant, if only he knew the aftermath would be bad for his behind, he would immediately left before they can do things last night.

"You're like someone who just being stabbed in your behind by a shaft. You can't stay still since you were in the carriage." Rose's whispery comment made him froze.

"What are you talking about?" he asked nervously.

"You know what I'm talking about; I don't want you to look so ridiculous in front of the host because you can't sit."

"Tsk, mind your own concern!" Arthur raised his voice but he realized that they weren't the only one who was in the room. "…my pants isn't comfortable." He said almost whispering.

Rose glanced at the brown pants that Arthur wore. "Isn't that your favourite pants?"

"Sh-shut up!" Arthur can't take it anymore, some more questions or comments from his wife will make him explode in shame and blabber everything.

Their bickering was cut as the stranger with spiky hair talked in low voice. "Are you his special guest too?"

Arthur looked at the stranger and noticed that he was staring back at him. "I don't know, actually I was here because I was invited through my lawyer, he's Monsieur Bridoux's lawyer too."

"I see, he never invited someone who he thinks has no value in separate room like this. I think he'll make use of you, just like he make use of me…"

Arthur pressed his lips into a thin line, his hunch was true, this _Duc_ was someone he didn't want to get involved with from the beginning.

"Excuse me…but you are?"

As if startled with his question, the tall man stood and reached out his hand, Arthur shook his hand firmly. "I'm Lars Janssen, his drugs dealer."

"Excuse me?" Arthur knitted his eyebrows.

"I was kidding, I trade spices and herbs from _Oost-Indische,_ that would be the same as drugs dealer isn't it?" he said flatly.

"Your joke…is not funny…" Arthur felt sudden relief.

"Pardon me then…" he sat back to his chair, looking to someplace faraway as if he disappointed that he failed to share his joke.

"Excuse me but when you said about 'being used'…"

"That is…my case; I don't know what has in his sleeve for you. You should know Mister, once you involved with Monsieur Bridoux, it's hard to turn around and left, he knows too much and he won't hesitate to make you play in his palm."

Arthur knew that trusting stranger would be bad, but the other side was another stranger to him with indirect connection in crime.

"Are you telling me the truth?"

"Though I can't tell you what he has done to me, but I told you the truth…"

With that the doors were swung to open, showing a figure with his beaming white teeth within his broad smile.

"Welcome everybody!"

* * *

Vash put the last of the papers inside his suitcase after reviewing it again and again. He really hoped that Ivan will bring him good news from his trip to Ry; though the Russian said to him one day that the trip weren't really necessary.

He didn't say a thing about that matter, he just wanted Ivan to be there, and maybe he could find another clue he was missing or lacking. He knew Ivan knows much better than he was regarding this issue.

_Who was actually Francis Bonnefoy?_

_What kind of person he was?_

_And his relationship with his client…_

_Also the gap he was looking for but he couldn't answer…_

"If I spill the entire secrets, would that be no longer interesting?" Vash remembered that the larger man said that once in their meeting at Dragon Nest.

To be honest, he always felt uncomfortable every time Ivan smiled at him while his amethyst eyes were watching the change of expression on his face. Ivan was not an ordinary spy; he must appreciate Arthur for his patience dealing with a man who loved to play riddles and mental games such as Ivan. Dealing with him left Vash in exasperation of endless curiousity, Ivan only gave little things he want to know and keeping the rest, waiting for him to find out himself just by the clues he scatter here and there. It's not common for him thinking of what was the use of Ivan in the first place if he didn't give him the whole information.

"I know it will slow down your investigation towards this thief you're looking for but don't you feel curious about what will happen in the near future?" he asked him back, as if he was waiting for something that surely will happen.

Vash wondered, whether he gave another answer that time instead of giving up to his curiousity. Will Ivan spill out what he knew?

Now Arthur tangled himself with this suspect, he couldn't help but feel regret that actually the things were turning out to become more 'interesting' like Ivan said.

Also more complicated.

Arthur had personally asked him to back off this case; he couldn't do it even though it was a request from his savior. He was more interested to crack the puzzle that triggered this quest than the actual issue – which is theft. His hunch told him, he could reveal bigger case and reveal who was actually Francis, he couldn't leave Arthur in the hand of stranger, and his consciousness wouldn't allow him. He must make sure that Arthur was safe.

His room's door was knocked several times, he told the person behind the door to come in. It turned out to be Arthur's butler delivering him a yellowish envelope. He thanked him and eyed the envelope cautiously.

It was from Ivan.

He hastily opened the envelope to reveal its content, along with the letter Ivan inserted a paper cut with drawing of a stuffed bear. Vash puzzled and decided to read the letter first, maybe the Russian stated the meaning with the paper stuffed bear.

_Good Evening Vash,_

_Reading your letter, I can see how things escalated and you find clues so fast. It becomes interesting isn't it now that our master is involved in this matter? Well maybe not in the actual case but emotionally attached to a suspect never be a good sign._

_Ah, I know that you will eventually send me to the farm where our suspect once lived. Thinking about the atmosphere of being there reminds me that it took a lot of money to own a farm, right? This Francis maybe weren't just an ordinary man like you thought of him, maybe he was once a middle class person?_

_This thought about social life leads me to another thing I keep wondering lately, that is being in relationship with people who has status lower than you are becoming a trend in the upper-class society in this recent year. Maybe it happened in the past but it becomes more transparent lately. It reminds you about someone? _

Vash could see the Russian chuckled.

_It's a really risky relationship, not to mention if the lord impregnates the maid, that would be quite a scandal! Especially if in the future, the lord is more favoring his illegitimate child, you have to see how hell breaks in the nobleman's house, so scary! I actually wonder to myself what will happen to the mistress and her children since I wasn't come from the upper class society._

_But if it's with Arthur, I don't really think that you should worry about that! He knew better, that's why he decided to keep a man as his secret lover._

Vash rolled his eyes upon reading the sarcasm.

_Did you remember your childhood, Vash? _

_I do remember mine, my mother will usually knit me scarves to protect me from the harshness of Russian winter, and after that my older sister Katyusha continues this activities, not only scarves but she made me various colours of mittens. I couldn't stop her though I have tons of her knitting already, I know her intentions are good and I take her entire knits as my beloved treasures._

_Do you have childhood memento, Vash?_

_With love, _

_Ivan_

_P.S: I love bear._

Vash let an angry growl escaping his mouth. He couldn't understand with all this nonsense Ivan wrote, and the stuffed bear he draw and cut, what did he smoke when he wrote this letter? It was so skippy, he talked about the nobleman, mistress and things like that to childhood memories and who cares about his liking towards bear? Was it possible that his brain already broke because he hide so much secret and drink so much vodka? He held the stuffed bear paper cut between his thumb and index fingers, eyeing it as if it could give him answer he needed.

_Unless Ivan tried to play riddles with him…_

His lips curled into thin smile, the hound already decided. "Challenge accepted, Ivan."

* * *

Back in the kitchen, Arthur's butler collected the entire servants and maids to distribute the tasks to welcome their master tomorrow evening. He said that the master and madam might be tired with their trip; he wanted to make sure that Arthur will be given the best service in his own household.

Francis was responsible for helping the chef preparing dinner, but when the chef pointing at the living turkey, he couldn't help but let a grumble escaping his mouth, but he wasn't someone who can complain, it was his job and he has to do it.

Now Arthur's away and he hadn't talked to him today, talking about what happened last night, their feelings, what did it meant for them, or something like that. Well, it was kind of hard when the person he wanted to talk with disappear before the he opened his eyes; maybe he was gone right after the sex, who knows?

"Thinking about last night?"

Francis almost dropped the grindstone to his feet when he heard a familiar voice, asking about what has been bothering him this early morning.

"Mr. Vash, I-I thought you're leaving already?"

"No, I must compile and arrange my papers; it took longer than I thought, so I send Lili first, I was expected there not for the party anyway…" he stopped and watches the Frenchman. "How's your feeling towards Arthur?"

"Eh?"

"I'm going to be blunt to you, I'm investigating about you, about your relationship with my client named Rodolphe Bridoux, I wasn't expecting Arthur to be involved but your relationship with him makes him tangled in this situati-"

"Please hold on a moment, I don't understand what you mean with all of these relationships. Didn't I tell you that I know nothing about your client, and now you mentioned Arthur?!" Francis must thank the God above that when Vash blurting everything with his uncontrolled mouth, no one was there.

"Oh, then I was wrong then, I thought what you shared last night with Arthur was something. If that doesn't mean a thing for you or Arthur, I should stop worrying that much…" he turned his heels to walk away from the cage that Kirkland family has to keep the chicken and turkey alive for a while, before they were cooked.

"What?"

But Vash was stopped midway; he turned his body and eyeing the Frenchman with his sharp green eyes. "About your relationship with my client, we just don't know…yet. But I will unravel it, with Arthur's approval or not."

_Rodolphe Bridoux, Rudolphe Bridoux…_

That name kept repeating in Francis' head from the time Vash retreating himself. His hands trembled and he his feet were losing its ability to support him to stand straight. He walked back to the kitchen with wobbly feet, his presence gaining the attention from his chef who asked whether he was okay.

He decided to sit on the nearest stool that his chef prepared for him, when the name was formed again, the memories of his deceased wife rushing. A woman without face, only her voice soothing him down, telling him everything was alright, now that she was happy in heaven, together with Mathieu.

_Together…with Mathieu…_

**_~to be continued~_**

* * *

**A/N**: have you find out? hehe

**Translation:**

**Oost-Indische**: East India which means Indonesia. Short history that the Dutch once colonialized the land of spices (Indonesia) to monopolize the spice trading to Europe through its trading company called VOC (the first multinational company in the world also the first one to issue stocks) - which acted like a country inside a country (it was privileged with armies, weapons, and negotiating with other countries). In this timeline 1850-ish, VOC was already bankrupt because its conflict with Great Britan in Indonesia and the corruption inside this trading company was very strong. Then Oost-Indische (and the spice trading) was taken by the Netherlands' kingdom._  
_


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